The Night of the Silent Child
by The Wild Wild Whovian
Summary: As a tropical storm drenches the Piney Woods of Texas, Jim and Artie take shelter in the home of a kindly widow and her children. Jim tries to cozy up to the older daughter while Artie sets out to befriend the younger, a spooky child who hasn't said a word since her father's death - But then a shot rings out.
1. Teaser

_Thanks go to Cal Gal for betaing. All remaining silliness is my own._

* * *

**Teaser**

Rain.

Not a drizzle. Not a sprinkle. Not a shower. Not even a downpour really. "How can rain come down like this, Jim? How can gravity pull the water down this hard? You know what this is like? It's like someone is up there loading the water into a Gatling gun and firing it down on us!"

Hats didn't help. Ponchos didn't help. Everything - every single blessed thing - was wet. Not damp. Not moist. Soaked. Drenched. Sopping. Swimming. Hair was wet. Clothes were wet. Socks inside the boots? Oh, sodden!

"Have you ever seen weather like this? You know what I think, Jim? I think it's one of those storms from down in the tropics. One of those hurricanes? I think it's spun ashore here, found us, and decided it would just sit on top of us. Because it likes us, huh?"

On they rode through this world of wet. The rain lashed at the trees, strewing pine needles over and around the men and their horses. The incessant water swirled the red clay into rusty rivulets and thick clinging mud.

Rain! It had still been dry sunny weather at mid-morning when they had arrested Devon Ramsey, turned him over to the sheriff at Tyler, then started out on their horses to return to the train up at Dallas. But no sooner had they gotten out here in the middle of nowhere than this storm had blown up, dogging them, making them miserable. And Artie's misery kept pouring out of his mouth.

"It couldn't possibly be wetter," he declared, "if we were riding at the bottom of the ocean. Slower either."

"Artie."

"Probably about the same amount of visibility, too."

"Artie…"

"And what's up there, anyway - buckets? 'Cause it feels like _continually _buckets are being poured over our heads!"

"Artie!"

"Hmm?"

Jim aimed a steady look at his old friend. "Could you maybe find something to talk about other than the weather?"

"Well sure, Jim, sure." Artie was silent just long enough to draw a fresh breath, then went off on a new topic. "Funny thing about this part of Texas. The Piney Woods, they call it. Of course you can see why. But the funny thing is, what with all the pines around and the red clay under foot, you'd just about think we were in the state of Georgia instead of in Texas. In fact I understand that one of the towns in this area is named Atlanta." He shivered and added, "It doesn't have to be Atlanta, but I sure hope we come to _some _town soon. Somewhere we can get under a roof. I don't think we'll make it back to the Wanderer before nightfall, and I really don't relish having to make camp out in the open in this weather."

"Artie."

"Well, I'm sorry, Jim! I tried changing the subject…"

"No, Artie. What's that?"

Jim was reining up, so Artie did as well and looked in the direction Jim indicated. Off to their right was a break in the underbrush along the side of the road. "Looks like an old wagon path." Both men peered along the weed-choked byway, trying to see through the sheets of rain to discern where that old road led.

"There's a gate."

"I think you're right."

As one they turned their horses down the old track, heading for the gate. Where there was a gate, there would likely be buildings beyond. Even if the place turned out to be deserted - and the path itself certainly looked in a poor state of upkeep - surely there would be enough of a roof left to get themselves and their horses in out of the wet, wouldn't there?

They drew up at the gate and Jim dismounted to check for a lock. There was none, only a latch which he easily opened. Meanwhile, Artie was squinting up through the rain at the signboard above the gate. "Las Flores," he read. "No brand symbol, so it probably isn't - or wasn't - a ranch." They passed through the gate, Jim relatched it and mounted up again, and the pair rode on only a short way before the path opened out into a yard.

Directly in front of them was the house, a large Georgian building with a wrap-around porch, the roof of which provided a railed balcony for the second floor. All around the lower two floors at regular intervals stood tall casement windows, the sort that can open fully to let cooling breezes flow through the structure on the endless summer days of Texas, while from the roof a trio of dormer windows poked skyward. Azalea bushes grew thickly round the porch. The paint on the house was a bit patchy in spots, but the place seemed to be in good repair. Off to the right was a large stable and corral, also in fairly good shape. And beyond the yard in every direction, pines and more pines.

They rode up to the house, dismounted, wrapped their horses' reins at the hitching rail, then climbed the steps and came to the door. There was no light in evidence at any of the front windows.

"What do you think?" said Artie. "Abandoned?"

With a shrug, Jim said, "We'll find out," and rapped the knocker.

And they waited.

Nothing.

Jim rapped again. Shortly a hint of light glimmered through the windows. Next came the sound of the lock turning over, then the door opened.

And in the doorway, to the men's appreciative surprise, stood a lovely young woman: auburn-haired, blue-eyed, rosy-cheeked, dressed in simple style. She held up the lamp in her hand, looked at the two strangers, and said, "May I help you?" A few steps behind her, staring with curiosity, was a stocky teenaged boy, darker-haired than the girl, but with the same eyes and a similarity of features that declared them to be brother and sister.

Both Jim and Artie had doffed their hats as soon as they saw the girl. "Good afternoon, miss," said Jim. "My friend and I were caught in the storm and were hoping for somewhere to get in out of the rain." He smiled at her winningly, as did Artie.

"Just a moment," said the vision of loveliness. Half turning, she called to the boy, "Jamie, go get Ma." The boy nodded and hurried off to a door at the back of the spacious entryway. Light spilled from the doorway in the second it took him to pass through it.

Turning back, the young woman said, "I'm sorry to keep you gentlemen waiting out on the porch, but I mustn't invite strangers in without my mother's permission."

After a brief and awkward silence, the far door opened again, fleetingly silhouetting the three figures who now came through it. First was the boy, and right after him a cheerful-looking little dumpling of an older woman - light-haired she was, but whether the hair was blonde or white was hard to say. Her face was so like the children's as to make it plain this was their mother.

And the third figure was another girl, younger than the boy, her long honey-gold hair loose around her face as if to make a curtain for her to hide under. Her eyes, blue like the rest, were absolutely huge as she peeked out at the strangers from behind her mother's skirts. Artie instantly grinned at the child, waggling his eyebrows and giving her a wink. The huge eyes went even rounder - and then she vanished from sight behind her mother.

Oh well, thought Artie.

"This is my mother," the young woman was saying.

"Welcome to Las Flores, gentlemen," the mother smiled. "I'm Iris Anders. Do come in."

Both thanked her, then paused to strip off their dripping ponchos and leave them out on the porch before entering the house.

"My name is James West, and this is my partner, Artemus Gordon."

"How do you do, Mrs Anders?"

"How nice to meet you," the older woman returned. "And these are my children: Liliana." That was the lovely young woman. "Jamie." The boy, as they already knew. "And Rose…" Mrs Anders looked around. "Why, where is Rose? She was here a moment ago. Wasn't she?"

"Oh Ma," said the boy, "you know how she is."

"I apologize, gentlemen. My youngest doesn't mean to be rude. She's simply extremely shy around strangers."

"And friends," the men heard the boy mutter. "And just about anybody else who's not one of the three of us."

Mrs Anders shot the boy a frown. "Jamie, why don't you take the gentlemen's horses off to the stable and see to them?"

"Oh, I can do that," Artie volunteered. "There's no need for the boy to get wet when I'm already soaked." Pulling his poncho back on, Artie stepped back out into the downpour, tossed the saddlebags up onto the porch for Jim to deal with, then collected his horse and Jim's, and led them off to the stable.

As he reached it, much to his surprise, the door was opened for him by a damp young Jamie. "How'd you get here so fast?" Artie blurted.

"Came out through the kitchen," the boy replied. "What a handsome black Quarter horse!" he exclaimed, admiring Jim's horse.

"Careful! He's mighty spirited. Here, you take Henry and let me handle Blackjack." He passed the reins over, and after shedding his hat and poncho, he followed as the boy led the way past a couple of already occupied stalls and on to some empty ones. Artie set about removing Blackjack's tack, watching unobtrusively as the boy did the same for Henry. Soon satisfied that the kid knew his way around horses, Artie settled into the rhythm of grooming Blackjack, talking to the big fellow quietly and soothingly as he curried the horse's gleaming black coat.

As the two worked, Artie commented, "Nice stable your family has here. Very roomy. How many horses do you have?"

Jamie shrugged. "Only the two anymore. Moone - that's the pinto - for riding, and Chestnut for the carriage."

Artie gave a soft chuckle. "You named the chestnut Chestnut?"

"Yeah, well, it was my sister's idea." The boy sighed. "You should have seen the place before Pa died. We had Percherons!"

Artie's eyes flicked to the boy's face. How casually he had dropped in such a large fact! "Percherons," he repeated.

"To draw the wagons with, yeah. See," said the boy, waving an expansive arm, "Pa ran Las Flores as a tree farm, and we had these huge wagons to move the logs on. Forty-two acres of pines!" His eyes shone with pride.

"What happened?" Artie asked quietly.

The boy paused in the middle of currying Henry. "Well… Pa went out one afternoon and apparently decided to cut a tree down all by himself. Don't know why, 'cause he'd never done a thing like that before." Concentrating on brushing the horse, Jamie added, "The first we knew of it was when Rosie came running up to the house, crying. We all followed her out into the woods and, and, well… there was the tree, and there was the ax, and there was, uh, Pa. Under the tree."

Silence. The only sound for a while was that of the currycombs as the two continued brushing down the horses.

Finally Artie asked gently. "When did this happen?"

The boy, having regained his composure, answered, "Coming up on four years ago."

Four… Artie recalled the little big-eyed girl he'd tried to befriend in the house. "Rose found her pa dead?"

Jamie nodded.

"Poor kid! How old was she?"

"Six."

Artie winced. No six-year-old child ought to make that kind of discovery!

"She's never been the same since," Jamie went on. "She doesn't talk. Not one word, from that day to this. Doesn't play with me anymore. Doesn't like people - especially men. She spends all her time either clinging to Ma, or else playing with the critters. See, we've got some blue-tick hounds, and the two horses of course, and a little mama cat that lives here in the stable with her new kittens. Rosie likes _them_." Finishing with Henry, the boy put away the currycomb, stared off at nothing for a bit, then added softly, "You know, the day I lost my Pa, I lost my little sister too."

Artie finished up in silence, then helped the boy as he looked in on his family's horses. Soon satisfied that all four horses were well set for the night, Jamie picked up a lantern and silently gestured for Artie to follow him. Moving quietly, the boy led the way the length of the stable until, coming up on a little nook, they heard high pitched mewing. Jamie raised the lantern so Artie could have a look.

There in a pile of hay was a little moon-faced gray tabby cat with three little tabby kittens - one orange, one gray and black, and the last one gray and brown like its mother. The babies were actively mewing and crawling about on their tiny unsteady legs. Sitting with them, rhythmically stroking the mama cat, with a candle set on a shelf above her head, was Rose.

The girl raised a hand to block the lantern light, frowning at her brother's intrusion.

"Rosie, you know you gotta be careful with that candle out here!" Jamie scolded.

She scowled at him more ferociously. Then she abruptly caught sight of the brown-eyed stranger standing behind her brother and shot Jamie a glare that was nigh on murderous before shrinking back and hiding under her hair.

Artie stepped up beside Jamie and hunkered down in the hay, resting his forearms on his knees and letting his hands hang limp, in very much the sort of stance he would take when trying to make friends with a stray animal. Smiling gently, speaking softly, he said, "Those sure are some pretty kittens. May I hold one?"

The girl only regarded him silently, huge eyes under golden hair. Artie reached out and took up the kitten that was closest to him, the little orange one. Cradling the tiny baby in one hand while stroking its soft round head with a finger, he said, "These are very new kittens, aren't they? Couple of weeks old?"

That caught the girl's attention, and her brother's too. "How do you know that?" Jamie asked, hunkering down as well.

"Well see," said Artie, "their eyes are open, so they're more than one week old. But their heads are still round and their ears very tiny still, so they can't be much older than a couple of weeks." Continuing to smile winsomely and to keep his voice gentle, Artie added, "Have you ever noticed how fast a kitten's ears grow? First the ears are tiny little nubbins like these, and next thing you know, the ears are huge triangles that the rest of the kitten has to do a lot of growing to catch up with!" He shot a twinkly-eyed glance at Rose; she was watching and listening warily, but with obvious interest.

"I bet this kitten's a tom, huh?" said Artie.

"Aw, we can never tell," said Jamie. "They hafta get a lot older 'fore we can ever figure out which are girls and which are boys."

"True," said Artie agreeably, "but orange kitties are toms some three-quarters of the time." Holding the kitten up to look it in the eye, he said to it, "Of course, it's not impossible that you could be an orange queen."

"Queen?" said Jamie.

"Well sure. Girl cats are called queens." Giving the little girl another twinkly-eyed smile, Artie quipped, "You're petting royalty there, Rose Petal."

The girl started and stared at him, and Jamie gave a gasp. "How'd you know that?" he exclaimed.

Amazed by the children's strong reactions, Artie whispered to the boy, "Um… what did I do?"

"You called her Rose Petal!"

"So?"

"So that was Pa's special nickname for her. No one else ever called her that, just Pa." The boy took a moment to compose himself again, then said, "Rosie was Pa's little girl. Always following him around everywhere. _Always_."

It took Artie a second to catch what Jamie was getting at. Leaning close to the boy so the girl wouldn't overhear him, he whispered, "So you think she didn't just find him that day?"

Jamie nodded unhappily and whispered back, "Yeah. I think she was with him when it happened."

Artie regarded the silent little girl, thinking once again, poor kid! He stretched a hand out toward her automatically, but she shrank back from it. Switching hands, he then held the orange baby out to her. "Here's your kitten, Rose Petal," he said.

She eyed him for a bit, then reached out and allowed him to pass the tiny baby into her hand, being careful, Artie noted, that their hands never touched. Swiftly Rose pulled the kitten back, bringing it up to her face for a quick kiss before setting it down tenderly next to the mama cat, who immediately started washing the little one.

They all watched the queen tend to her babies for a while. Then Artie said, "I like cats. Every so often we've had a cat on the train."

"Train?" said Jamie, his eyes lighting up.

"Oh yes. My friend Mr West and I live on a train. We're lawmen and have to travel around a lot. But there was this one cat in particular I was thinking of. Big fluffy orange tabby. In fact, I called him Tabby. He stowed away on our train when we were in Denver and he traveled with us for a long time. He went all the way east with us to Washington, DC, and then back out west again - until finally we got back to Denver once more."

He had been about to tell the children how he had carried the cat off the train and set it on the ground with one last pat and a cheerful, "There you go, Tabby!" and of his last sight of the cat strolling away, tail held high. But then he changed his mind and let his ever-fertile imagination improve on the truth.

"Once we were back in the cat's home city, I took out an ad in the newspaper describing the tom and inviting his owner to come claim him. And who should show up but a very sweet little lady about your age, Rose Petal. Her name was, ah, Sylvia. She scooped Tabby up and hugged him and kissed him." His eyes twinkled. "And called him George."

"Bet she was real glad to have her cat back," said Jamie, caught up in the story.

"Oh she was!" Artie replied. Looking at Rose, he said, "Little girls just love their kitties, don't they?" And he smiled, his eyes inviting her to smile back.

There was a twitch at the corner of her mouth that might have been the beginning of a smile. But then she dodged back to hide under her hair again, stroking the little kitten that looked like the mama cat.

Somewhere a dinner bell rang.

"C'mon, Rosie," the boy said, hopping to his feet, "it's time to eat."

Artie came to his feet as well, from long habit reaching out a polite hand to help the girl up. She shot the big man a glare and stood up under her own power. Jamie grabbed both lantern and candle and led the way back to the stable door.

"Well," said Artie as he picked up his poncho, "from the sound of it, I'd say it's still raining pitchforks and plow handles out there. Miss Rose Petal, would you care to wear my poncho to avoid getting soaked?"

She gave a tight shake of her head. Immediately her brother said, "Hey, if she doesn't want it, I do!"

Artie handed off the poncho, then took up his hat, started to put it on, abruptly changed his mind, and dropped it onto Rose's head instead.

The girl snatched it back off again and glared at him. "Rose," Artie said gently, "I'm just trying to keep you from getting so wet."

She held the glare a few seconds longer before it softened, then dissipated. She turned the hat in her hands, looking at it. Finally she put it back on. It was much too big for her, of course; she could barely see out.

Still, she had accepted it, and that was a first step. Artie flung the door open, waited for Jamie to blow out candle and lantern, then called out, "All right, kids. Let's see if we can run between the raindrops!" And the three of them took off charging for the house.

…

The kitchen was bright and cheery, and even better, dry and warm. The fire blazed merrily; near it, on racks, were the contents of the men's saddlebags, steaming themselves dry.

Mrs Anders gathered the hat and poncho from the children and hung them on the racks as well. "Go on up and change out of those wet things before we eat, children," she said. "And, Jamie, show Mr Gordon to the Green Room. Mr Gordon," she added, "I've laid out a dressing gown for you to use until your own things are dry. Just bring the wet clothes down, and we'll add them to the racks."

Shortly family and guests were gathered in the dining room. Jim, also in a dressing gown, managed to claim the chair next to Liliana, while Artie, deliberately seating himself alongside Rosie, quickly found himself sandwiched between the younger girl and her brother.

The fare was plain but hearty. As for the conversation, even though he was trying not to, Artie soon dominated it. Jamie brought up the train, which led to a few stories about life on the road. And whenever Artie wound up one topic, Jim would prompt him to another, so that the stories went on well into the night. For all that Jim was keeping Artie talking, though, Artie was noticing that Jim's attentions were concentrated on Liliana. And she seemed to be enjoying his interest - though she also seemed to be careful not to encourage him.

At length the clock struck eleven. With a cry of "Mercy! Look at the time!" Mrs Anders rose and began to clear the table, Liliana immediately coming to her aid. "Jamie, you and Rose get on to bed," their mother ordered, adding, "Good night, gentlemen."

"Good night, Mrs Anders," said Artie. And Jim added, "Liliana," in a tone of voice that made the young woman blush - and her mother frown.

"Careful, Jim," Artie murmured once they reached their rooms at the top of the stairs, "or you'll get us thrown back out into the storm."

"Well, if you would flirt with the mother, perhaps she wouldn't notice so much me trying to make time with the daughter," said Jim, a twinkle in his eye.

Artie shot his partner a fishy look. "Yeah right, Jim!"

"Come on, Artie. I've seen you flirt with some of the most monstrous women on the face of the earth. Iris Anders is a picnic compared to them."

"True, true. But that was in the course of duty. It's one thing to pump some woman for information or provide a distraction when we're in the middle of a case. This isn't a case. Besides," he added, "I'm already trying to befriend Rose."

"Rose! Are you serious? I mean, you've dated some really young ladies, Artie, but…"

"Oh, ha ha ha, James. I didn't say 'date.' Now listen." And he filled Jim in on everything Jamie had told him out in the stable.

"So you're trying to bring her out of her shell?"

"Yeah. Pretty much. She's certainly a challenge."

"But, Artie, we'll be moving on as soon as the weather breaks. How much good do you think you can do her in such a short time?"

Artie shrugged. "Who knows? But she's already thawed a little bit." He smiled. "Consider it my good deed for the day." And giving his partner a friendly clout on the shoulder, he said, "Well, good night, James my boy! See you in the morning!"


	2. Act One, Part One

**Act One, Part One**

The first thing the two agents noticed upon rising the next day was the continuing sound of rain. At least they had some dry clothes to change into, but today they were plainly not going to be moving on.

When they came down for breakfast, they were surprised to see a man in the kitchen nursing a cup of steaming coffee as he talked to Mrs Anders. He was a big man, broad of chest and brawny of arm, with strands of brown hair wisping across his bald pate and a compensatory full beard, liberally shot with gray. The man's reaction upon seeing the agents went well beyond surprise; he started so badly he nearly spilled his coffee. "Who the hel…" He checked himself and started over. "Who are you?"

"Oh, land's sakes, Mr Hargill, don't take on so! These are Mr West and Mr Gordon. They showed up yesterday afternoon asking for refuge from the storm, and I'm afraid it looks like you gentlemen," she added, turning now to speak to them, "will just have to put up with Anders hospitality for a mite longer, since it's still pouring cats, dogs, and billy goats out there. Oh, this is Sidney Hargill, our manager here at Las Flores. Now you three just help yourselves to the coffee. Breakfast will be ready directly. Liliana, is the table set, dear?" She bustled off into the dining room to check on her daughter's work.

Hargill sat at the kitchen table and watched as the two agents poured themselves some coffee, Jim taking his black, Artie adding cream and too much sugar. "So y'all are just passing through, is that it?" he asked at last.

"Mm-hmm."

"Where you heading?"

"Over toward Dallas."

"What you doing out this way then?"

Jim and Artie exchanged glances at the interrogation, then Artie smiled as he settled into another seat at the table. "Oh, just enjoying your glorious Texas weather!"

"Glori…!" Hargill turned a glare his way. "Oh, funny man, huh? What, you two have a stage act, is that it?"

Artie cocked an eyebrow at Jim. "Maybe."

Hargill snorted. "Dam… darned-fool way to make a living, if you ask me," he grumbled into his coffee.

"Don't recall anyone asking you," Jim said easily. This earned him another glare, which the agent met steadily.

The kitchen door slammed open then and all three men whirled to see Rose come scampering in out of the rain. She stopped instantly, her eyes widening to the size of saucers. The next moment she spun and raced back out into the downpour.

"No, wait!" Artie called. He jumped up and hurried to the door, but by the time he got there, the child was no longer in sight. "I guess we spooked her," he muttered to Jim.

"_Spooked _her!" Hargill growled. "Spooked _her? _Are you nuts? _She's _the spooky one around here. Staring like that all the time, running around like she ain't got a brain in her head, never saying a word!" He shook his head. "There's just something wrong about that kid, and I've told Mrs Anders more than once she oughta send that demented little imp off to the madhouse and be done with her, but she won't hear of it."

Both agents turned incredulous looks toward the man at the table. "Well, of course she won't hear of it," said Artie. "That's her daughter you're talking about."

Hargill snorted. "Oh, you've been here one night and now you know everyone there is to know? Well, I've been manager here for years, hired by David Anders himself well before he di... passed on, and I'm telling you that, that child - I'll swear it! - either has a demon or is one!" he spat.

Jim's eyebrows arched. "That's not a nice thing to say about a little girl," he reproved.

Again Hargill snorted. "Well, _you _try getting any work done with that big-eyed brat staring at you and running from you every day of your life, year in and year out, and see how you like it!"

Iris Anders bustled back in, followed by Liliana, and the two women set about pulling things out of oven and icebox, shooing the menfolk into the dining room. Before long breakfast was on the table and they all sat down to eat - all but Rose, that is.

Iris sighed. "Oh, Jamie, would you please go find your sister?"

The boy rolled his eyes. "She's likely in the barn playing with the kittens, Ma. You know she'll come eat when, uh…" Now he cast his eyes toward Mr Hargill.

Hargill bounded to his feet and threw down his napkin. "Oh, when I'm done at the table and holed up in the office, right? Same as every da… dad-blamed day, week in, week out! Well look, Mrs Anders, I've had it! You either do something about that crazy bra… child of yours, or you find yourself a new manager!" Scowling, he stormed from the dining room. Moments later, somewhere on the ground floor, an interior door slammed.

Iris sighed. "He's in the office then. Jamie, go fetch Rose."

The boy nodded and disappeared through the kitchen.

Jim and Artie exchanged glances. "So…" Artie said cautiously, "did he just quit?"

Mrs Anders shook her head. "No, no. He does that most mornings. Yells a bit and stomps off to the office. Everything's fine though. Go ahead and enjoy your breakfast."

But while the others, eventually including Jamie and Rose, tucked into the egg-rich casserole the Anders women had made for their breakfast, the mother of the family twisted her napkin in her hands and barely took a bite.

…

Once the meal was done, the family of course had their daily routine, so Jim and Artie did what they could to fit into it, helping out with chores around the kitchen, barn, and elsewhere. Eventually, with everything caught up, the widow and her children settled into the parlor, Mrs Anders and Liliana with their sewing, Rose sitting on the floor partly hidden behind her mother's chair.

Jamie brought out a checkerboard and, after an unsuccessful attempt to get Rosie interested in a game, the boy convinced Mr West and Mr Gordon to play on a round robin basis. After checkers palled, he fetched out the chessmen, and later on a deck of cards. At length Artie, with permission, had a look through the bookshelf containing the family's small library and selected a volume of the Brothers Grimm, from which he offered to read aloud. While Jim tried to catch Liliana's attention - she merely smiled and continued with her stitching - Artie regaled them all with the tale of Snow White and Rose Red, making his voice big and gruff for the bear, querulous and sneaky for the ungrateful dwarf.

As he read, Artie snuck occasional glances at little Rose, noting how, as the story progressed, the child inched out from the shelter of her mother's chair, ending up lying on her tummy with her chin propped up, listening wide-eyed. At story's end, Artie closed the book and said, "Wasn't that a good one?" and gave Rose a wink.

She stared at him, but amazingly she didn't scurry back into hiding. Encouraged, Artie got up and returned to the bookshelf to pick something else to read.

And into the momentary silence, Jim offered the comment of, "I take it Las Flores is named for the three Anders women: Iris, Rose…" He paused slightly and smiled at the owner of the final name. "…Liliana."

The young woman blushed and fixed her eyes on her embroidery while her mother, oblivious to Mr West's glances, replied, "Oh yes, that's right. My husband's idea. As my own name was floral, he wanted our girls' names to match mine, and from that came up with the name of the tree farm itself."

"Really?" said Artie, a twinkled creeping into his eye. "Then I'm a bit surprised you didn't manage to fit Jamie into the pattern as well."

The boy gave a shudder. "Oh no, that's ok. I'm fine like I am. I'm just glad there don't happen to be any boy flower names!"

"You sure about that?" said Artie. "You mean you've never heard of Sweet William?"

"What?" Jamie cringed.

"And then there's Narcissus," Jim commented, "from Greek mythology."

"Mm-hmm," Artie agreed. "Not to mention Jack-in-the-pulpit. Oh, and for that matter, there's also Basil!"

He grinned as the boy cringed even worse. "I am perfectly happy being Jamie!" he protested.

"Now, come to think of it, we did consider the name William," Mrs Anders mused. "But in the end, his father preferred to name our son after… Oh, mercy! There's the door!" For a sound of knocking echoed into the room.

And that was when the youngest Anders vanished.

Laying aside her embroidery, Mrs Anders rose from her seat and bustled off to answer the door, twittering to herself, "But who could that be, out in a storm like this?" Jamie and Liliana got up and trailed after her and, with a glance and a shrug at each other, West and Gordon followed as well.

They all caught up just as Mrs Anders was opening the door. "Why, land sakes!" she cried in delight. "Len! Frank! What're y'all doing out in this weather? Come on in! Is Bonita with you?"

The younger of the two men at the door gave a smile and a "Thank you, ma'am" and started to step in, but the older blocked him with a hand. "This ain't a social call, Iris, and I'm sure you don't need us coming in and dripping all over your front hall." Looking beyond the little widow, he spotted the two strangers and added, "Didn't expect you'd have company."

"Oh, these two gentlemen are Mr West and Mr Gordon, a pair of storm-stranded travelers," said Mrs Anders, making introductions. "And, gentlemen, this here's my cousin Leonard Mills and his son Frank." The men shook hands as Mrs Anders went on with, "Len's our local sheriff and Frank's one of his deputies." She looked now at the sheriff with troubled eyes. "Is something wrong, Len?"

He nodded. "All this rain's got the river rising like nobody's business. We've been down in the flood plain warning folks to evacuate."

"Oh dear! But, Len, I don't understand. Las Flores is on the high ground. You're not expecting the river to rise this high, are you?"

"No no, Iris, nothing like that. But them folks being flooded out need somewhere to go. And I was thinking, you know, you got this big ol' house here standing mostly empty, and…"

"Why say no more, Len! Of course they can come here. You just let 'em know."

The sheriff grinned. "Yeah, I was expecting you'd say that. We already been telling folks to head on up here. And then it dawned on me that I might oughta give you some warning that you're gonna have company coming your way." He touched the brim of his hat to her. "Well, we gotta get on. There's still folks downriver ain't been warned yet. Iris, Lily, Jamie… No Rose?"

Mrs Anders looked around, then shook her head.

Len Mills sighed. "Ah well, maybe one of these days, hmm? Mr West, Mr Gordon, nice meeting you."

The two agents exchanged glances, and as the sheriff and his son were turning from the door, West offered, "Could you use some help?"


	3. Act One, Part Two

**Act One, Part Two**

It was a long afternoon of slogging back and forth along mud-washed roads, but by nightfall all the residents up and down the river had been warned of the flooding, and a great number of those folks had packed into Las Flores for refuge from the rising waters - and just in time too, for with the fall of night came a new element in the storm: thunder and lightning. Everyone was glad to be safe inside a warm, dry house on high ground.

All the upstairs bedrooms at Las Flores were filled now - Artie gave up the Green Room to double up with Jim in the Blue Room - and some folks were going to be camping in the parlor and front hall overnight as well. West and Gordon were introduced to all the neighbors here in the Anders home - the Browns and Hutchens and Cantus and Murdocks and Maldonados and Prays and… well, there was just no keeping track of them all. One person who did stand out was Bonita Mills, the sheriff's wife, a dark-eyed little bundle of raw energy who came in and took over, organizing everything, assigning rooms, supervising the kitchen, and putting all the children to work as well.

All the children but Rose, at least. Conspicuous by her absence, the youngest Anders finally put in an appearance once the dinner bell rang, only to cling closely to her mother's side throughout the meal and afterwards. Her big eyes hiding behind her hair were lit with anxiety at the great number of people here in the house.

After supper, the ladies took over the parlor with their sewing and such, and sat about companionably catching up on all the latest gossip. Jamie brought out his board games and cards to play with the other children, thoroughly enjoying the infrequent treat of having so much company at the house. It was only once he'd lost a game of chess and looked around for something else to do until it was his turn to play again - that was when he noticed.

Rose was gone.

Jamie's face fell. Of course! He should have expected it. The huge number of neighbors crowded into the house had overwhelmed his little sister and she had disappeared.

He glanced around again to check on Ma, but she was busy chattering away with Mrs Maldonado - at least she hadn't noticed yet! Liliana was nowhere in sight either, but _her _Jamie wasn't worried about. The boy hopped to his feet and slipped out of the parlor to do what he usually did whenever anyone showed up at the house: he set out to search for Rose. And he figured he should probably start with the stable.

…

Meanwhile in the front hall of Las Flores, the men had gathered for their own jawing session, sampling what hadn't been sold off yet of the late David Anders' wine cellar.

"Mighty neighborly of Miz Anders, opening her home like this for all of us," said one of the men.

"Mm-hmm," said another. "Pity, though."

"Pity?" Artie asked, trying to place whether the man who had spoken was a Hutchens, a Murdock, or a Pray.

"Oh, this place. Las Flores." He waved a hand taking in everything, house, lands, and trees. "This was a thriving enterprise back before David died. Oh, _he _had a head for business! But now…" He shook his head.

Someone else dug an elbow into the speaker's ribs, then jerked a thumb at Sidney Hargill.

The speaker winced. "Ah… no offense meant, Hargill. Didn't see you there."

"Hmph." Hargill took a generous slug of whatever was in his glass. "Been a run of bad luck these past few years, that's all," he muttered. "Dave wouldn't've fared any better through all this than I have, no sirree! Bad luck's all. Well, that and that…" He glanced at the two strangers in their midst, spat out a word under his breath, then drained off the rest of his drink and left the room.

"That and that what?" Artie asked the man sitting closest to him.

"Oh, nothing. Just Hargill being Hargill is all. He's a superstitious sort."

"Ah, really? But what did he say?"

No one answered him. In fact, someone turned to Frank Mills and said, "So did you and your pa have fun traipsing all over the county letting us all know to hightail it out of the flood plain?"

Jim leaned close to Artie and murmured, "Not that you really want to know it, buddy, but the last thing Hargill said before he bolted was, 'that jinx.' "

Artie's brows knit. "Jinx, huh? And just what did he mean by that, I wonder?"

"Probably exactly what you think he meant," Jim replied, then broke off. "Excuse me, but what was that?"

The men were all laughing now, and Frank Mills was grinning, thrilled to be the center of attention. "Sorry, come again?" he said.

"If you don't mind, Deputy Mills," said Jim, "I'd appreciate it if you'd repeat what you just said."

There was a certain amount of chuckling over young Frank being addressed by so formal a title as "Deputy," but ignoring the chafing, he obligingly reiterated himself. "Why, I was just saying that in the midst of all this rain and emergency we're having up here, we got word over the telegraph that over there to Tyler, right after the storm broke, this big ol' tree got knocked over onto the new jailhouse and a couple of the prisoners got loose."

"And that's funny?" asked Artie. "After all, some prisoners escaped!"

"Mighty big fools, I'd call 'em," said someone, "bolting from the jailhouse out into the middle of this gullywasher!"

"Out of the frying pan, into the fire," said another.

"More like, out of the mud puddle and into the ocean!" crowed a third.

"Again," said Artie, "this is funny?"

"Aw, well, y'see, Mr Gordon," said Frank, "you ain't from these parts. You'd have to know the sheriff over there to Tyler to see why we're laughing."

"Ain't that the truth!" someone put in. "That there Rance Wilkins, always so proud of his fine new jail, and now he's got a big hole in it!"

"But getting back to the prisoners who escaped," said Jim, "would you happen to know their names?"

"Why 'course, Mr West. That's what the telegraph was about, telling Pa and rest of us to be on the look-out. It was a couple fellows named Burke Johnson and, uh, Devil Ramsey."

"_Devon _Ramsey?" asked Artie.

"Devon - Devil - well, something like that, yeah."

The conversation moved on, and after a bit, so did West and Gordon. "Well, so much for having arrested Ramsey!" said Artie once they found a private spot to talk.

"Right," said Jim. "We'll have to get on his trail again."

"Where do you think he would have headed though? Or would he be holed up somewhere, waiting out this storm?"

Jim shook his head. "Hired gun like that, there's no telling."

Artie rubbed at his forehead. "Well, we're going to need to send a telegram to the colonel as soon as possible, telling him to disregard our previous message from Tyler."

Jim nodded. "As soon as the weather breaks, we'll need to return to Tyler and try to pick up Ramsey's trail again."

"Trail! What trail? With all this rain, there won't be any sign where he went! And I hate to say it, but the main way we're likely to pick up any tracks of Devon Ramsey again will be if he takes some potshots at somebody!"

"I know. And we never did find out who hired him to come down here to East Texas anyway."

Artie groaned and shook his head. "All that time, wasted! Makes you just want to spit!"

"Ma don't allow spitting inside. Won't put up with a cuspidor or anything like that," said a young voice.

"Jamie!" West and Gordon shot the boy a pair of stern looks. "Have you been eavesdropping on us?"

"Me? No! I'm doing what I normally do whenever there's folks around: trying to figure out where Rosie's hiding this time."

Ah, well, that was understandable. "Young girl like that shouldn't be out in the dark," said Jim. "Have you checked the barn?"

"Mm-hmm. And her room. You know, she and Liliana and I had to give up our rooms for the visitors, so we'll be with Ma in her room tonight. But I checked all those rooms and didn't find her."

"Where else might she be?"

"Well that's just it: I don't know!" Jamie's voice cracked a bit from worry. "She knows this house better than I do, and I'm sure she's got hiding places I ain't never found yet. Would you…" He looked up at the agents anxiously. "Would you mind helping me look?"

The agents exchanged a glance. They might as well, since they certainly couldn't head out to round up Ramsey again till after the storm was over. "Sure," said Artie. "We wouldn't mind a bit, right, James?"

"I'll take the cellar then," said Jim briskly.

"All right, I'll go upstairs," Artie replied. And leaving Jamie to check the ground floor, they spread out to search every nook and cranny they could find.

…

Jim carried an unlit lantern with him as he headed down the steep stairs into the cellar. He used his ears first, listening for any sounds that might point him to the child, not wanted a light to alert her to his presence and possibly drive her further into hiding.

Well, he did hear sounds alright, but not what he'd expected to hear from a little girl who didn't talk. He heard voices, furtive ones.

"Now, Gabe!" came the first voice, soft, sweet, feminine, with just a touch of a giggle in it. "I've already told you that you need to speak with Ma about this! It ain't right, us sneaking around to see each other!"

"But I've _tried _talking to her, Lil," a second voice, male and gruff, replied. "And she won't hear nothing of me courting you! She's got her heart set on you marrying Frank 'stead of me, so's to 'keep Las Flores in the family'!"

The girl sighed. "Oh, she does keep throwing Frank at me, even though I've told her and told her, I want nothing to do with him." She sighed again, then blurted, "Oh, what are we going to do, Gabe?"

Her companion's voice dropped even lower. "Don't you worry your pretty head about that, Lil. I'll take care of it. I'll take care of everything. You'll see. You'll see right soon." This was followed by the sound of a kiss, then, "But you better hurry back upstairs now, 'fore your ma misses you and comes poking around down here."

"All right." Another kiss, and Liliana Anders came out of the darkness with a candle in her hand. At the sight of the silent figure standing by the bottom of the staircase, she gasped and threw her hand over her heart. "Why, Mr West, you gave me such a turn! What are you doing here?"

"Searching for Rose. And you?"

A young man, tall and muscular, stepped out of the darkness and interposed himself between West and the girl. "Who are you?" he snapped.

"Oh, Gabe, it's fine!" said Liliana. "This is one of our guests I told you about, remember? This is Mr West. He and his friend Mr Gordon got caught here by the rain."

The young man glared at him. "Hmph. That's right, the two of you were out with us helping to warn everyone. I recognize you now." Grudgingly he put out a hand for a shake.

"And you're Gabriel Owens, one of the deputies," Jim replied.

Gabe nodded shortly, then took Liliana's arm and started escorting her up the stairs. Before the couple were halfway up, Jim asked, "And Rose?"

"Oh. Well, we haven't seen her, not down here. I don't believe I've seen her since, oh, supper?" Liliana appealed to her backstairs beau.

"No, I haven't seen her either. But the way Rose is, she could be right beside us here in the dark and we'd never know it. She's a sharp one, she is."

The two continued on up the stairs, while Jim, having lost his element of surprise, struck a match and lit the lantern.

…

Jamie prowled through the first floor, peeking in each room in turn. Many of the rooms were occupied by their displaced neighbors; Jamie didn't bother to check those carefully, figuring Rosie wouldn't likely be hiding where there were people.

He paused outside the office. Would she hide there? Rose didn't like Mr Hargill one bit, so surely she wouldn't be here, would she? No, Jamie decided, of course she wouldn't. He started to move on.

"You dang idiot!"

Mr Hargill's voice rang out from the other side of the closed door. Jamie jumped and whirled back. That was exactly the sort of thing the manager would say to Rose! Jamie slipped closer and laid his ear against the door.

" 'Course I'm talking to you!" Sid Hargill snapped. "Of all the blame-fool stunts to pull, this one takes the cake!"

No one answered, which was just what Jamie would expect if Rose was the one at whom the man was yelling. Quietly the boy turned the knob, then eased the door open by a couple of inches to have a look.

There was Mr Hargill standing at the window, his fists on his hips and his back to the door. Jamie squinted, then frowned. But who was Mr Hargill hollering at? There wasn't another soul in the room, not Rosie, not anybody!

"Sure, I know I said I'd see what I could do, but this ain't the time nor the place! Times are rough, in case you hadn't noticed."

Jamie leaned into the room itself, straining to catch a voice that apparently only the manager could hear.

"I already talked her into selling off the wagons and draft horses, and some of the personal property too. Been after her to unload some of the acreage, but she won't hear of it. 'Las Flores is my children's heritage,' she keeps saying. I've done all I can… I mean it! I've done all I can to convince her… No, you just shut up! That ain't gonna happen. I got my mind made up to… Hey!"

For Mr Hargill whirled suddenly and saw that the door was ajar. "Hey, who's there?" he growled as he stormed across the room and flung the door fully open, then glared up and down the hallway beyond. "Hmph," he grunted, seeing no one. He stepped back into the room and slammed the door shut behind him, then locked it securely. "Too many people in this durned house," he grumbled as he returned to the window.

Jamie, shaking, emerged from hiding on the far side of the grandfather clock. Who was Mr Hargill talking to, and what was he talking about? the boy wondered. Well… on the other hand though, whoever it was, Jamie was sure it had nothing to do with Rose, and he still didn't know where his little sister was. Hmm… Maybe she'd snuck back into the kitchen for a little snack. He wouldn't put that past her!

The grumpy manager's weird conversation slipped from the boy's mind entirely as he hurried toward the kitchen to search for Rose there.


	4. Act One, Part Three

**Act One, Part Three**

Artie checked the upstairs rooms one by one, starting with the little girl's own room, now given over to a neighbor who was just settling her children in for the night. The woman was nervous at first when a stranger knocked on her door, but relaxed quickly when she learned his errand. Oh, that Rose! Always disappearing, everyone knew that. Why were they even worried about her? She'd show up again when she was ready. Though they might should put out some food to lure her out. Or a kitten. That would get the little changeling's attention.

"Changeling, ma'am?" asked Artie.

"Oh, well, you know. She's certainly not the same child she was before! Really," she added with a sniff, "I don't see how Iris abides such nonsense. I certainly wouldn't!"

Artie excused himself and moved on, presuming the little girl hadn't been in that room. At least, he hoped she hadn't been there to hear the neighbor's opinion of her.

He checked Jamie's room and Liliana's, then moved on to their mother's room. No one answered his knock, and he entered quietly, searching the closet and under the bed. After a moment's thought he drew a chair over to the side of the four-poster and climbed up to peer at the top of the canopy.

No, no Rose. Again he moved on.

More of the children were being brought upstairs and tucked into their pallets of blankets up here. Artie made himself useful, opening doors and such, and of each person he inquired when they'd last seen Rose. He got several earfuls of various locals' viewpoints about the girl and her mother's raising of her, but no one had seen her lately, not since supper.

Artie retired at last to the room he and Jim were sharing and checked it as well. His mind churned as he worked, ruminating on the silent child, on the sharp looks she shot at people, on the assumptions so many made about her. Changeling! Demon! Unruly, or disobedient, or hateful.

Artie shook his head at last. "Who can blame her for not wanting to be around people who think all those awful things about her!" he murmured.

Well, she wasn't in this room either. Artie blew out the lamp and started to leave.

"Liliana!" The voice, an overly loud hiss, sounded from just beyond his door. Artie arrested himself with his hand on the knob. What now, he wondered.

"Liliana," came the voice again, "you sure look purdy."

"You say that every time you see me, Frank." That was the ethereal vision's voice, but she sounded at the moment anything but angelic.

" 'Course I do, 'cause it's true! You're the purdiest thing I ever laid eyes on!"

Artie heard the girl give a snort. "And eyes are all you ever shall lay on me, Frank Mills! Now you just head back downstairs this moment and let me be."

"But… but, Liliana! Your ma says…"

"My mother can speak for herself, and I shall speak for myself! I want no part of you, Frank! Can't you get that through your thick skull? Ma may think it's a wonderful idea to keep Las Flores in the family by marrying me off to her cousin's son, but I think it's appalling! Now just go away."

There was silence for a moment, then young Frank's voice spoke, low and fuming. "Is that your last word on this, Liliana Anders?"

"Oh my, yes, Frank! Last, first, and only! And now if you won't get out of my sight, I suppose I must simply take myself out of yours!" And from beyond the door a rapid tattoo of footsteps echoed along the hallway, followed by the slam of a door in the general direction of Mrs Anders' room.

Artie next heard a snort like that of an angry bull. "Confounded girl! Well, I ain't taking 'no' for an answer, no sirree! She thinks she can just toss Frank Mills aside like that, she's got another think coming!"

Again footsteps sounded; these moved rapidly away in the opposite direction and headed down the stairs. Artie waited till it was quiet, then opened the door and stepped out into the empty hall, frowning. He didn't like Frank's tone at all. He should, he knew, have a word with Mrs Anders to warn her about the young man - but first he'd have to think of a way to approach the subject so that the dear lady wouldn't instantly tell him to mind his own business.

And while he cogitated on finding a way to break such news to the widow, Artie continued to search for the woman's youngest child.

…

Jim drifted through the cellar, the light of his lantern falling on bushels of potatoes, carrots, onions, all the usual contents of a root cellar. He played the light behind and around the baskets, finding no one.

He moved on, discovering now shelves full of glass jars, the bounty of someone's endeavors at canning huge quantities of vegetables and fruits, pickles and preserves. Here were crocks of butter as well, safely stored in the cool cellar. Jim checked carefully any areas that looked large enough for a young girl to squeeze herself into, and indeed a few that looked too small for her, but Rose was nowhere to be found.

What Jim did find, however, was a door. It had no lock and was in fact not even closed completely. Jim laid a hand on the rough-hewed wood and pushed. And as the hinges protested their infrequent use, a voice from within called out gruffly, "Who's there?"

That wasn't Rose. Even without ever having heard the child speak, Jim could not possibly mistake this voice for hers, for whoever had spoken was plainly no little girl. No, that was a man's voice, deep and ringing, authoritative and projected, the voice of someone used to filling a room with sound, and used to being obeyed.

Someone perhaps also used to backing up his authority with a gun? Jim didn't know. And therefore he paused with the door only about halfway open. "I'm looking for Rose Anders," he said.

"Rose? Well, she's not in here, of course. Why would she be in the wine cellar? And who are you? I don't recognize your voice."

The door was yanked fully open now, and Jim found himself standing face to face with a distinguished-looking older man in perhaps his fifties, a lantern of his own in hand. He was dressed in a fine, well-tailored suit - by the exiguous lights the men bore, it was hard to tell the suit's color precisely; it might have been brown or even some shade of purple - with a watch chain stretching across his brocade waistcoat. The man wore a tidy set of sideburns that joined together beneath his chin, forming a well-kempt neckbeard. His head was tipped back slightly, allowing him to peer down at James West through the half-moon glasses perched upon his nose. He now lifted his lantern high as he tucked his chin down to look over the tops of the glasses and scrutinize West more closely.

"No," he proclaimed confidently. "I've certainly never seen you before in my life. Who are you, and why are you concerned with Rose Anders?"

Jim reached into an inner pocket of his jacket and brought out a small leather wallet. He flipped it open, presenting the man his credentials.

"Federal agent?" the older man exclaimed in surprise. "But whatever are you doing here? Surely if any of the Anders family were in federal trouble, I would know of it - and surely it would _not _be Rose!"

Briefly Jim explained the circumstances that had led to him and his partner finding refuge with the widow and her children. And as he pocketed his identification again, Jim added, "And you are?"

"Harvey Craven, Esquire, the family's lawyer. I've been seeing to their legal needs, and more recently to their general welfare, since well before David Anders, ah, passed on. Then your interest in the whereabouts of young Rose…?"

"Is merely to help out her brother. She turned up missing again, and Jamie asked our help."

"Ah." The lawyer turned a sidelong look West's way. "A bit curious, your story. Rose doesn't take to strangers, nor does she like men."

"My partner Mr Gordon was a stage actor formerly, and has a way of winning over even the toughest of audiences," Jim said with a smile.

"Hmm. Perhaps, perhaps. Now, if you'll excuse me…" Craven stepped forward and to the side, bypassing West as he left the wine cellar and pulled its door shut behind him.

He gave a nod as he passed. West let him get about a dozen feet away before he asked, "And what are you doing down here, Mr Craven?"

The man whirled. "I…! Why, it's none of your business, Mr West! As I told you, I'm the family's lawyer and I consider it my duty to ensure that their best interests are being protected!"

Jim tilted an eyebrow. "In the wine cellar?"

"Of course!" His face darkening, the lawyer stalked toward him, one hand gesturing toward the ceiling. "That manager of theirs, that Hargill idiot, has _mis_managed Las Flores ever since David's death, all but laying the entire enterprise in ruins! I've warned Iris of this time and again, but she'll hear nothing of firing the fool, placidly reciting over and over how much David trusted the man, and therefore she'll not hear a word against him." He glowered. "Because of his ham-handed incompetence, many of the family's assets have already been sold off, so I wanted to see… well…"

Curiously, the man seemed to have suddenly run out of steam. "Mm," said Jim. "You wanted to see if Mr Anders' best wines were among the remaining assets, is that it?"

"Well… yes." The man had the grace to look chagrined. "Oh, it's not as if Iris even knows what's down here. She doesn't drink. Hargill could be robbing her blind, consuming an entire bottle every night, and she'd never catch on."

"If she doesn't drink, then what difference does it make if the wines are sold to others, provided the money is turned over to her?"

"None, I suppose," the lawyer had to agree. "But who's to say whether your ethical provision is in fact being carried out? Who knows if the proceeds from the sale of David's oenophilic collection _are _being turned over to the bereaved widow?"

"And who knows if in fact the collection is being depleted?" asked Jim.

The lawyer drew himself up tall and straightened his waistcoat with an irate yank. "That," he declaimed, " is precisely what I was checking on. And now you _will _excuse me." He turned on his heel and grandly strode away.

Jim waited until he heard the cellar door open and close again in announcement of the lawyer's exit, then let himself into the wine cellar. He looked all through the room, checking every corner, and had to conclude that Craven was correct: the child wasn't here. He also concluded - and smiled as he did so - that Artie would be immensely interested in having a look at the late Mr Anders' collection for himself.

But Rose wasn't here. Jim closed up that room, made one last sweep of the cellar, and headed back upstairs.


	5. Act One, Part Four

**Act One, Part Four**

Jamie stepped into the pantry and looked around. "Rosie," he called softly. "C'mon, Rose, olly olly oxen free!" He paused and listened, hoping to hear some noise that betrayed his sister's presence.

He heard a noise all right, but not from the pantry and not from his sister either. The kitchen door banged open suddenly, accompanied by a voice saying, "This is ridiculous, Iris!"

That was his Aunt Bonita! And then the door swung closed again, only slightly more quietly, as a second voice said gently but firmly, "But it's none of your business, Bonita."

And that was Ma. His eyes like saucers, Jamie dove behind the flour barrel in the pantry and peeped out through the open door, hoping he wouldn't get caught spying.

Bonita set a tray of dirty dishes from the supper down on the kitchen table, making a louder clatter than was strictly necessary. "None of my business! When you're the talk of all the neighbors because of that little hellion you're raising?"

"She's not a hellion; she's simply a child."

"Hmph!" Bonita began transferring the dirty dishes into the sink which was steaming with hot water for washing up. "Simply a child, indeed! Iris Anders, that girl rules the roost around here and the whole town knows it! She needs a firm hand, I'm telling you. Not all this… all this _coddling!"_

"Oh, a firm hand. And by that you mean that I should whop the tar out of her, I suppose?"

"Well, _someone _should!" Bonita set about washing and rinsing the dishes and standing them in the drain rack.

Jamie's ma shook her head as she took up a towel to dry the dishes. "Oh, Bonita! I've tried that! Don't you think I haven't? I believe in 'spare the rod and spoil the child' just as much as you do."

"Do you? Why, no one would ever guess it from the way you let that girl run wild!"

"_And_," Mrs Anders went on as if the other woman hadn't spoken, "I have tried my level best to be both mother and father to these children. I have tried spanking the willfulness out of Rose, tried that faithfully. But then one day I came into the room where she was and she cringed away from me - from me, her own mother! - and I realized that the poor child wasn't being willful at all. She was just scared! And for me to spank her for being frightened didn't help matters a bit. It only made her scared of _me _on top of whatever else was frightening her!"

Bonita snorted. "Weakness, I call it," she muttered.

"If wanting my frightened child to at least not be afraid of me is weakness, so be it! But I'll not try again to be both father and mother. It didn't come naturally to me, and we have everyone of us paid the price for it." Slowly and thoughtfully she dried another dish and put it away in the cabinet. "All I can do," she said, "is be their mother and trust God to take care of the rest. I won't have it for Rose to fear me the way she fears…"

She fell silent. Still clattering the dishes in the sink, Bonita said scathingly, "Oh, fears what?"

Iris shook her head. "Well that's just it! I don't know. But she found her father dead, the poor soul, and she's never been the same from that day to this."

Bonita gave another snort. "I found my father dead too, you know. And that experience didn't strike me dumb!"

"True. But you were a grown woman when Patricio died, not a six-year-old girl. And he'd been ailing a long time, so it was expected. Not like… not like with David."

"Oh, more excuses…" Bonita was grumbling, when the cellar door opened and Mr Craven came into the kitchen. "Ah, good evening, ladies!" he said cordially as he closed the door behind him.

Both women started, then smoothed their skirts, trying to look a bit more presentable. "Why, Mr Craven! I had no idea you were here," said Mrs Anders.

"Surely Hill Crest didn't get flooded out too?" said Bonita.

"Oh my, no!" he responded jovially. "But having heard that Las Flores had opened its doors to so many of our unfortunate neighbors, I thought I would drop by and see that all is well." He smiled affably, then added, "And… all _is _well, I take it?"

"Oh yes, quite well," said the lady of the house as she resumed drying the dishes.

"As well as it ever is," her cousin murmured darkly.

"Splendid! Well, I shall be heading home then." He started for the exterior door.

"In this deluge?" cried Iris.

He chuckled. "Tut, tut. I've already been out in it on my way to come visit! I'll not melt on the road home, I assure you. Good evening, Mrs Anders, Mrs Mills." And out he went.

Iris crossed to the door and looked out. "Oh, and there he goes, driving off in his carriage. Has his poor horse been standing out in the rain all this time? I do wish Mr Craven would just stay here for the night the same as the others. I was about to make him the offer, but he left too quickly. Curious though, him coming out like this. And what was he doing in the…?"

At that moment the cellar door opened once more and this time James West stepped into the kitchen. He nodded politely. "Good evening, ladies."

Again the women started. "Why, Mr West! Were you in the cellar as well?"

He smiled disarmingly. "Just helping Jamie search for his sister," he said.

Bonita snorted. "And now even strangers are having to hunt for her!" she grumbled at her sink full of dishes.

"Oh Mr West, that's very kind of you," said Mrs Anders, "but you needn't have troubled yourself…"

"No trouble at all," said Jim. His sharp eyes spotted the boy peeking out from behind a barrel in the pantry and he wondered what the kid was up to now. "Jamie?" he said.

The boy's eyes all but popped from their sockets as the kid waved his hands at Jim, mouthing, "No! No!" And then the kid vanished behind the barrel entirely.

Mrs Anders paused in wiping a dish to look around. "Oh, is he here? I don't see him."

Hmm. Pasting on a smile, Jim covered smoothly with, "I was just going to say what a good boy Jamie is, watching over his sister the way he does."

And as the boy's mother nodded and twittered on a bit about how proud of him she was, and as the other woman sniffed and muttered to herself that if Rose was being raised properly, her brother wouldn't have to watch over the girl so much… well, the pair of them were too busy talking to listen for it, but Jim, who was expecting it, heard the boy's sigh of relief clearly.

A moment later they all heard another sound. From the front hall of the house came raised voices, angry voices, male voices, each flinging sharp stinging words one at the other. Jim sprang out the kitchen door and raced for the front hall. The two women quickly put down the dishes they'd been working on and dried their hands before hurrying after the man. And last of all, a very relieved young boy fell out from behind the flour barrel, then hurried from the pantry into the back hall to come around past the office, hoping to keep his mother and aunt from realizing he'd been in the kitchen with them the whole time.

Meanwhile out in the front hall, two angry men paid no attention to anything else at all except for their own disagreement.


	6. Act One, Part Five

**Act One, Part Five**

Artie finished searching the rooms of the upper floor with no success, and at length he stood in the hallway, one hand on his hip, a finger of the other hand tapping at his nose as he pondered on what to do next. He hadn't found Rose, and yet just at the moment there was something else, something he was sure he had missed. Something he'd seen without noticing…

And then he snapped his fingers. "Dormer windows. Of course! When we first saw this place yesterday, there were dormer windows in the roof, but I haven't seen them from the inside yet. There must be…" He looked up and down the corridors, frowning. He'd seen all the rooms up here, opened all the doors. Where…? "Where's the attic? Surely there's a way to get to the attic!"

Accordingly, a few minutes later when Liliana Anders emerged again from her mother's bedroom, she found Artie walking slowly along the hallway, pausing every step or so to rap on the wall with his knuckles. "Why, Mr Gordon!" the girl exclaimed. "Whatever are you doing?"

"Looking for the attic." He took another step and rapped again.

"The attic? But why?"

He turned to face her. "Because Rose is missing once again and Jamie asked Mr West and me to help look for her."

Liliana gave a ladylike sniff. "Oh, is that all it is? Well, what you're looking for is down there." She led the way around a corner to the far end of the hall. "Not that Rose is supposed to be up there. She's not even supposed to know there _is _an attic, and neither is Jamie."

"Oh? Why not?"

She shrugged. "Pa didn't want them playing up there. He was afraid they'd break things - not that I suppose it matters anymore now that they're older - but that's why he had this put in." She stopped in front of a painting and felt along the edge of it. "There's a latch here… Ah!"

With a soft _click_, not just the painting but the entire section of wall it was attached to swung outwards like a door. "There you go."

"Oh, very nice. A secret passage here in Las Flores! Thank you, Liliana."

"You're welcome, Mr Gordon." She nodded to him pleasantly and disappeared back around the corner again, heading for the stairs.

"Hmm…" Artie glanced inside at the staircase leading upwards into the dark. On a hall table a few steps away was a hurricane lamp; Artie removed its chimney and lit the wick with a match, then replaced the chimney and adjusted the flame. Satisfied, he stepped through the doorway and closed the painting behind him as he started up the steep gloomy stairs.

The passage was a bit narrow, the air a bit musty, and the higher he went, the louder the lashing of the rain on the roof grew in his ears. He heard no other sound save for the occasional crash of thunder, but the silence in the attic didn't worry him, not considering the person he was expecting to find.

There was no door at the top of the stairs, only a horizontal opening in the upper floor surrounded on three sides by a railing. He paused before he reached the top to hold the lamp high and have a look around, taking in the boxes and trunks and odds and ends of old furniture collecting dust up here.

He didn't see anyone, but there was so much clutter up here, he wasn't surprised.

Now he held the lamp lower and took another look. Ah! From around the corner of a moldering highboy he saw the shadows shift as another light flickered somewhere just out of sight. Artie smiled. There she was. He'd found Rose.

Well, he amended as he finished climbing the stairs and stepped out into the attic itself, he'd found _someone _at least; presumably it was Rose. He headed for the highboy, keeping his footfalls as quiet as possible, endeavoring to be unnoticed until such time as he chose to be seen. He reached the highboy, then peered beyond it.

And there she was. The child was in a little candle-lit nook of the attic, stretched out on her tummy busily drawing on a sheet of paper. Under her was an old mattress that had been set directly on the floor, and beside her on one side was a trunk with a small stack of books piled upon it, her candle in its stand also atop the trunk, while on the other side of her was a basket containing about half a dozen apples and the cores of a few more.

Stepping out quietly from the shadows, Artie said softly, "Hello, Rose Petal."

She jumped. Well, that was probably inevitable. She also scowled. Fiercely.

With a teasing twinkle in his eye, he added, "Tag. You're It."

Her eyebrows knit as she jumped to her feet and stormed toward the intruder. She stopped right in front of him and tipped her chin up to give him a ferocious glare, her arms folded across her chest. After fixing him with that furious glower for about half a minute, Rose pointed sternly toward the stairs. Artie looked at them, then answered, deliberately misunderstanding, "Oh, don't worry. Jamie didn't follow me. Your secret is safe."

She stomped her foot and waved her hands at him all the more urgently, plainly telling him to go away. But clear as her intentions were, Artie continued to pretend he didn't understand. He smiled winsomely. "What a nice place you've got here, Rose!" he said. "May I have the grand tour?"

Rose folded her arms again and stomped once more. Artie jumped slightly, his eyes springing wide open. "Oh no!" he exclaimed. "Are there bugs up here? Do you want me to help you stomp on them? I've got really big feet!"

Rose made a little growl and shook her head hard.

"Oh, no bugs after all? Well, that's a relief! I'd hate for there to be anything obnoxious invading your refuge here. It's such a wonderful little hiding place, somewhere you can go that Jamie doesn't know about. Oh, and what's that?" he added, pointing off toward something in the semidarkness to his left, not far from the top of the stairs. "Is that a bookshelf? Do you read up here?" He wandered over to the books and selected a thick one from the shelf, placing the hurricane lamp atop the shelves and blowing a layer of dust off the book.

He looked at the title, then whistled. "_Notre-Dame de Paris_? You read French? That's quite an accomplishment for a girl of your age! I've read this novel myself. It's quite long, though, and the ending is so very sad. Did you enjoy it? I…"

With a snort, the girl snatched the book from his hands and flipped it open. She poked a finger at the rectangle of paper glued inside the front cover.

"Ah. _Ex libris _David J Anders," he read aloud. "So. These are your father's books?"

Her eyes looking anywhere but at Artie's face, she nodded.

He slipped the book back into its place on the shelf and took up the lamp again. "Those are some very special books then," he said gently. "What other special things are up here?"

She gave him a sharp look, plainly making up her mind whether she should try to shoo him away again or play along with his earlier suggestion of the grand tour. Finally she turned and went over to her own area where she plopped down alongside the trunk. She moved her stack of books aside, picked up the candle, then threw open the lid.

"Ah?" Artie came over and sat down on the mattress beside Rose. "What have we here?"

She reached in and pulled out a cloth toy puppy dog with long flowing ears. She hugged it briefly, then handed it to Artie. He set down his lamp to accept the child's treasure. "Oh, isn't he a beaut?" he said. "What's his name?"

Rose only threw him another scathing glance and took back the toy. She tucked it back into the trunk, then brought out another item.

Artie grinned as she placed that into his hand. "Ah, a harmonica! Also known as a harp." He cupped his hands around it and blew into the little instrument, producing the first few bars of "Beautiful Dreamer."

She tilted an eyebrow at him, took the harmonica back as well, and knocked it against her knee a few times before returning it to the trunk.

"Oh, I did not spit into it!" he protested good-naturedly. "What else do you have?"

One by one she brought out more treasures: a rock, a book with about a dozen sets of flowers pressed inside, a cloth with her name stitched on it beneath a delicately embroidered semblance of a baby's face, the shell of a long-dead turtle, a folded paper bird…

And after regarding Artie for a very long moment, Rose pulled out a stack of papers and began laying them out one by one on the mattress between the two of them.

Artie took up the first paper. There were two lines running across the middle of it, not exactly straight lines, but they were roughly parallel to each other. One of the lines had other short lines branching off from it. On either side of the lines was a stick drawing of a person, perhaps a man, perhaps a boy. One of those figures was parallel to the long lines, its arms and legs spread out wide, while the other was drawn at an angle across the parallel lines, its arms stretched out toward one of the short lines.

Artie frowned at the sketch. A glance at Rose showed him that she was watching him intently. "Ah…" he said at length, turning the page so that the parallel lines ran across the page from top to bottom. "Um… two kids climbing a tree?"

She made a snort of derision and snatched the paper from him, then turned it and thrust it back at him. Now the parallel lines ran sideways across the page, and the figure with splayed out limbs was just below those lines. He could see now that the other figure was seemingly standing over the first one, but tilted as if leaning towards him, and his hands were holding onto…

Oh. Suddenly he got it. "This…" His throat went dry even as his eyes dampened. "This one." He pointed at the prostrate figure. "This is your father, isn't he?"

Her own eyes quite dry and with a touch of fire to them, Rose nodded.

Artie looked over the other pages she had spread out between them. Every single drawing showed the same scene: one figure on the ground, the other standing over him with his hands holding a branch of the tree. She had drawn it over and over and over, he thought, her father lying under the tree while a second man grabbed a branch to lift the tree off of him.

Jamie had been right; she'd seen it. She'd seen him die.

Rose reached past him and picked up the drawing she had been working on when he'd arrived just now and passed that to him as well. Yes, it was the same as rest - the same, but more detailed now, the figures looking more like men and less like sticks, and the tree filled in with details of bark on it, and the ragged stump in the ground beside it.

Artie drew a long breath, looking at the most recent drawing. "May I… may I have this?" he asked at last.

Solemnly she nodded.

As he folded the drawing and slipped it into his pocket, she stacked up the others and returned them to the trunk. She closed it now and replaced her books on top.

Artie stood up and held a hand out to her. "Are you ready to come back downstairs now, Rose Petal?" he asked. "Your ma will likely be missing you, you know, and Jamie was already hunting for you. We don't want him to find your special hiding place up here, do we?"

For a split second she nearly smiled. Nearly. Then she picked up her candle and her basket of apples and headed for the stairs. At the top she turned back to make sure Artie was following her.

They descended together, the girl slightly in the lead. At the bottom, she laid her ear to the door and listened, then blew out her candle and tucked it into a niche alongside the door. By the light of Artie's lamp she lifted a latch on the wall and the door swung open. As soon as both of them were outside, she shut the door again and pointed at the nearby table.

"Yes, ma'am," said Artie as he replaced the hurricane lamp on the table where it belonged, then blew it out before following the little girl along the hall and down the stairs to rejoin the crowds of neighbors below.

Noisy crowds of neighbors, make that. Just what _was _all that commotion, and the sound of angry voices?


	7. Act One, Part Six

**Act One, Part Six**

Jim burst into the front hall and took in the scene before him at a glance: the group of men who had been sitting in here earlier genially passing the time together were now all on their feet and backed up against the walls, leaving the center of the room clear for just two men. A great number of women were peering in from the open parlor door, but only one woman stood in the front hall.

That was Liliana Anders, her hand pressed over her mouth, tears streaking her face. And there in the midst surrounded by the silent crowds, there were Frank Mills and Gabriel Owens, glaring at each other, snarling at each other.

"What is it gonna take for you to get it into that head of yours that she's mine and not yours?"

"Yeah? If she's yours, how come her ma don't want you seeing her? Answer me that!"

"If her ma don't want me seeing her, maybe it's because _someone's _been filling her head with lies against me!"

"You calling me a liar?"

"That's depends. Are you the one who's been spinning yarns against me?"

"I never said a word against you that wasn't God's honest truth!"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah!"

This was getting nowhere in a hurry. Jim stepped forward and ordered, "All right. Back off and go to neutral corners, both of you."

Each young man spared only a moment's glance at the intruder. "This don't concern you, West!" growled Gabe.

"No, but keeping our hostess' front hall from being turned into a battle zone _is _my concern. Now back off and cool down!" Jim took another step closer and spread his hands to separate the two.

"Mind your own business!" snarled Frank. He whipped around and aimed a haymaker at West's face.

Bad idea. Jim easily dunked under the arm. Frank lost his balance when his blow missed and he stumbled sideways, nearly falling over.

Gabe roared with laughter. "Yeah, see? You can't land a punch any better than you can land my girl!"

That did it. With an inarticulate bellow, Frank whaled into Gabe, flinging his shoulder into his rival's gut and driving him backwards straight toward the open parlor door. Some of the women shrieked with alarm as they ducked back out of the way. And one of them wisely slammed the door shut.

The two swains crashed into the door. Gabe shoved Frank away and followed that up by socking him one across the chin. Frank smashed a fist into Gabe's jaw in return, and they went on slugging each other. The crowd of men rushed to get out of the way as the pair lurched into the sofa and fell over it, overturning it in the process.

"Stop that!" "Stop it at once!" a pair of women's voices demanded. Mrs Anders and Mrs Mills had arrived.

Jim charged after the combatants. "You heard the ladies!" he said as he hauled Gabe to his feet. "This ends now!" He whirled the young man around and sent him sprawling into a nearby chair. Jim then grabbed Frank as well and spun him onto another chair. "If you want to slug it out, you can do it some other time and some other place, but for now, break it up!" Jim ordered.

Both young men glared at him but said nothing. Some of the other men came over and lifted the sofa, setting it back in its place. The door to the parlor inched open again and the ladies peeked out.

"Oh, you're bleeding!" Liliana dashed to Gabe's side and began dabbing at his chin with her hanky.

"Get away from her!" Frank growled. He surged up out of his chair and stalked toward his competition.

Gabe sprang to his feet as well. Glowering, he said, "She came to me of her own free will just now, and everyone saw that. Don't you start spreading your lies again!"

"I ain't no liar!" Frank snarled and launched himself at Gabe once more.

And that's the scene that Artie walked in on. Rose stopped still as a statue at the top of the stairs, her eyes like saucers. Artie took in the spectacle, spotted young Jamie near the foot of the stairs, and hurried down to have a quiet word with the boy. Jamie nodded and scurried up the stairs to wrap a comforting arm around his little sister.

Jim rolled his eyes and waded into the mess again, trying to separate the pair for a second time. This go-round, however, both young men had apparently decided that not only was each other the enemy, but so was Jim West. Frank swung a fist at Jim's nose and was rewarded with an elbow into his gut. As Frank doubled over, Gabe made his own attempt to paste the agent, and got a kick to the ribs for his trouble.

And in the midst of the melee, Jim spotted Artie casually making his way around the perimeter of the room. He reached a certain spot and shot Jim a beatific smile.

Jim seized both young men, slung them at each other first to conk their noggins together, then gave them both a hard shove straight toward Artie.

Artie obliged by opening the front door. Frank and Gabe found themselves flying out the door into the raging storm outside. For a moment Artemus Gordon smiled at them from the doorway. "Do come back in after you've cooled off," he advised. He then gave the pair a jaunty salute before closing the door and locking it.

…

"Liliana, come away from the window!" said her mother.

They were in the parlor now, all of the Anders family along with Bonita, and also Mr West and Mr Gordon. A few of the other women were still in the room as well, though many of the others had left to see their children tucked into bed upstairs in the various rooms that had been allotted them.

And Liliana stood at the window peering out into the storm, watching for one or the other of her beaus to put in a new appearance.

"Oh, Ma!" she replied disconsolately.

"Come away," Mrs Anders insisted. "It's not seemly for you to be pining so over that ne'er-do-well."

"Oh!" Liliana whirled from the window and sank into the nearest chair, pressing her hanky to her face. "Gabe's _not _a ne'er-do-well, Ma! Why must you say that of him?"

"I'm curious about that myself, Mrs Anders. Aren't you, Artie?"

Artie nodded. "Oh, yes! After all, Gabe Owens is one of the town deputies. Surely he must be a fine upstanding citizen to hold such an important office."

Liliana nodded enthusiastically. "He is! Oh, he is!"

Mrs Anders folded her hands across her waist. "That's not how I heard it!" she intoned darkly.

"Nor I," Bonita said, adding her own conviction to her cousin's as she stepped closer to the window to peer out, hoping for the return of her son.

"Ah? Well then, do enlighten us, Mrs Mills," said Artie. "What _have _you heard?"

"Oh…" Bonita shifted uncomfortably, then gave a bit of a shrug. "He… he used to work over to Tyler, you see. For the sheriff over there."

"Sheriff Rance Wilkins," Jim supplied.

"Yes, the very man. And…"

"And?" Jim prompted.

"And… well… it…" She threw up her hands abruptly and abandoned the window. "Oh, it's just seems awfully suspicious that such a _fine upstanding young man_, as some would have it, would quit his position over there to accept an almost identical one over here at Macon!"

Jim and Artie exchanged glances. "I see," said Artie. "Then you're saying that there's, ah… something wrong with leaving the sheriff's office in Tyler to take up a similar position here? Is working for your husband here in Macon a step down in the world?"

She scowled. "Why, no, of course not! Nothing of the kind, and I resent you making such an suggestion!"

"Well, if that's not the case, Mrs Mills, what _are _you saying?" asked Jim.

"Well, that… that there was something… irregular about how Gabriel Owens came to be here instead of there."

"And I heard," put in Mrs Anders, "that he was _fired _by Sheriff Wilkins, and it was only because of the kindness of Cousin Len's heart that he was able to obtain his position here!"

"Precisely!" said Mrs Mills.

"And that is why," Mrs Anders added, turning toward her daughter, "I _insist _you must send Gabe Owens away at once. It is over between the two of you, and that's final!"

"No! No, I refuse, Ma! He never did a thing wrong; if he had, he would have told me!"

Mrs Anders sighed and cast her eyes heavenwards. "Oh, Mr West, Mr Gordon, can't you talk some sense into her? You're men of the world. A young man like that…"

"A young man like what, Mrs Anders?" Jim asked pointedly.

"I… Oh… Like, like _that! _Young, handsome, manly. Turning the head of a sheltered young lady such as Liliana, with extravagant promises of, oh, who knows what! Why, there's no telling what he _really _has in mind!"

Liliana sniffed angrily, while Artie said gently, "As opposed to what Frank Mills really has in mind?"

"Of course! Frank's our own flesh-and-blood! Len and Bonita's son, born and raised here, steady as the day is long." The widow glanced at Bonita, who nodded wholeheartedly.

Artie shook his head sadly. "I'm afraid that's not what I heard," he said.

"Oh?" said Mrs Mills frostily. "And just what _have _you heard, Mr Gordon?"

Artie sighed and glanced at Jim. Then, turning to face the women as a flash of lightning lit up the window behind him, Artie smiled apologetically and repeated to them verbatim the things he had heard Frank say a little earlier upstairs, when the young man had spoken of Liliana as a confounded girl and had vowed not to take no for an answer from her.

And the reaction he got was pretty much what he had expected. For Mrs Anders gaped at him, then cried out in a fury, "You, sir, will mind your own business!"

"Yes, who asked you anyway?" added Mrs Mills.

"Well, technically," Jim pointed out, "you did."

Mrs Anders, her face darkening, glared angrily at the two men standing side by side before the window. She paced back and forth for a few moments, then stopped and scowled at the pair once more. A flash of lightning lit up the window behind them, silhouetting the men for a blinding instant as the crash of the thunder followed not a second later. "I see how it is then," she declared as soon as the rumble died away enough for her to be heard. "Mr West, Mr Gordon, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask the two of you to leave Las Flores. Jamie, go at once and fetch down their things from the Blue Room."

"But, Ma!"

"And don't you backtalk me, young man! They're leaving at once, and that's final!" Resolutely she folded her arms and faced down the two men.

"Ma…!" the boy started to protest again.

"No, Jamie, your mother's within her rights. We'll go. Good day, ladies," said Jim. He nodded at Artie, and the two of them stepped past the widow to head upstairs and pack their things for themselves.

And just at that moment, just as another flash of lightning lit the window Mrs Anders was facing, there came an ear-splitting _CRACK_, much louder than the previous peal of thunder. Everyone in the room jumped.

Everyone jumped, but Mrs Anders alone did more than that. She gave a gasp of pain, then slowly sagged down to her knees before finally collapsing flat on the floor.

"Ma?" Liliana leapt from her seat and rushed to her mother, even as Artie hurried to the woman as well and fell to his knees at Mrs Anders' other side. And Jim…

Jim West charged toward the window, one pane of which was now sporting a hole that hadn't been there before. He flattened himself against the wall alongside the broken window and tried to peer out through the darkness and driving rain. "Artie, how is she?" he asked brusquely.

Artie looked up from examining her. "Jim, she's been shot!"

**End of Act One**


	8. Act Two, Part One

**Act Two, Part One**

The parlor door slammed open as most of the men from the front hall crowded in. "What in blazes was that noise?" bellowed the sheriff.

"Someone just shot Mrs Anders," said Jim. "From out there."

"Shot!" Sheriff Mills strode to the stricken woman's side and dropped to one knee next to Mr Gordon. "Is… is she…?"

Artie was examining the woman. Her left forearm was bleeding from two wounds, entrance and exit. From there the bullet had continued on into her torso. Glad that Mrs Anders was mercifully unconscious, Artie gently rolling her onto her uninjured side to check her back for an exit wound. There was none. "Bullet's still inside then," he said. "She's alive, but she needs a doctor. I don't suppose…?"

"Naw, Doc Jordan ain't here," said the sheriff. He looked up and called out, "Fra…! No, I mean Ga…! Confound it! My deputies ain't back!" He looked over the men who had followed him into the parlor, then pointed. "You, Charlie! Ride off and fetch Doc Jordan here! Tell 'im what happened; tell 'im the bullet's still inside. And tell 'im to hurry!" Seeing that Mr West was leaving the room, the sheriff added, "You going out, West?"

Jim nodded. "Out into the storm, yes, to search for the gunman."

"Fine. I'll come with you. Bill, Pat, you men come as well." The two he named nodded and went to get their guns and ponchos. "Bobby, you find something to board up that window." And another man nodded and left the room. "As for the rest of you men," the sheriff added, "spread out and guard the house while we're out searching. Who knows if the polecat who shot Miz Anders might come back!"

"But don't just start shooting at whatever moves out there," Jim put in sternly. "Remember that _we'll _be out there too!" Then, with a nod to Artie, Jim left, followed by the sheriff and rest of the men as well.

"What do we do, Mr Gordon?" asked an anxious Liliana. She was clutching her mother's hand, peering into her pale, still face.

Artie had already yanked off the large bow tie at his throat and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and during Jim's conversation with the others had been busy making a pad of the handkerchief and using the tie to bind it around the wounds in Mrs Anders' arm. "While we're waiting for the doctor to arrive and take out the bullet," he said, "we need to do what we can to get the bleeding stopped." He glanced around and pointed. "Bring me that afghan from the back of the sofa," he said. "Oh, and one of the throw pillows as well."

She grabbed both and handed them to him. "Thanks. You slip the pillow under her head while I…" He left the rest unsaid as he pressed the afghan over the wound and held it there to staunch the blood.

Bonita Mills appeared at his side suddenly. "But you're ruining that afghan! It was her mother's, a wedding gift, and she'd be mortified at how you're spoiling it!"

Artie gave a disbelieving laugh. "Mortified! Think about what that word actually means, Mrs Mills! My aim here is to _avoid _her ultimate mortification!"

"Nevertheless, Mr Gordon," the woman persisted, "I'll ask you to spare that cloth and use something else!"

He looked up at her, astounded. "Look," he said at last, "this was the first thing available. You don't want me using it, then you'd better bring me something else."

She shot him an angry glare. "All right then, I will! I'll fetch you every towel in this house!" She turned on her heel and stormed away.

"Of all things to worry about in the middle of an emergency," Artie grumbled to himself. Then something dawned on him and he looked around again. Sure enough, he, Liliana, and the injured woman were still surrounded by a sea of stunned faces, most of them children's. "Ladies, get those youngsters out of here!" he demanded. "They don't need to see this. In fact, clear out, all of you!"

It took an additional command of "_Now!"_ before the women came out of their shock and began to obey. Within a minute, though, the ladies caught the hands of their children and hauled them all from the parlor, leaving Artie alone with only the immediate members of the Anders family.

"You too, Jamie," Artie said next. "Get Rose Petal out of here. This is the last thing she needs to see."

"But…"

Artie shut his eyes for a second. "Don't argue with me, son! Take her out of here. And don't let her out of your sight!"

"I'll… I'll see to them." Liliana came to her feet and hurried to her siblings. Together the three left the room.

And no sooner were they gone than someone else came in. "What the hel… blazes is going on around here?"

Artie, still kneeling by Mrs Anders' side, his hands pressing the afghan over the wound, shook his head. "Hargill, this is _not _a good time!"

"All these people tromping all over the house, running here, there, and everywhere, and…" He caught sight of what Artie was doing then. "Holy…!" Whatever oath he was going to bring forth failed him completely. "What… what happened to her?"

"That's the reason everyone's been running about. Mrs Anders has been shot." Artie nodded at the broken window. "By someone out there."

Hargill gaped at the supine woman, then turned to look at the window. "Shot…" he muttered, mostly to himself. Beads of sweat sprang out on his forehead and he yanked out a large red bandanna to mop at them. Still murmuring under his breath, he said, "But no. No, it can't be. It just can't! That blame idiot! Would he really have…?" His voice trailed off.

"Would who really have what, Mr Hargill?"

"Huh?" The manager stared at Gordon for a spooked second, then shoved the bandanna back into his pocket. "Never you mind. I'd, uh, best be getting back to the office, just in case this, uh, this was all a, a distraction! Yeah, distraction, so someone could sneak into the office and steal, uh… stuff."

Artie cocked an eyebrow at the man. "Stuff, Mr Hargill?"

"You heard me, Gordon! Stuff!" He stalked across the room and disappeared out the door, slamming it behind him.

And barely a minute later the door sprang open again, this time to admit a woman bearing a double-armload of folded towels stacked higher than her head. She found her way to the sofa and disburdened herself. "There!" said Bonita Mills. "Now you give me that afghan this second so I can rinse it out before the blood dries and makes a stain that will never come out!" She passed him a towel.

Artie sighed but complied. The bleeding was far less profuse now, he noted as he switched out the cloths. And as he pressed down again on the bullet wound, he heard a groan.

"Iris!" Mrs Mills promptly abandoned the afghan and dropped to her knees by Mrs Anders' side. "Iris, how are you?"

The widow groaned louder. "What… what happened?" Her eyes fluttered open and she jumped to see that Mr Gordon was leaning over her, then cried out in pain. "My side! And my arm!"

Swiftly and soothingly Artie gave her the short version of recent events, ending with, "And the doctor should be here soon. You're going to be just fine." He gave her an optimistic smile.

"Fine?" Bonita spat out the word. "But she's been shot!"

Artie glared at the woman and hissed, "Shh!"

"Shot, with three wounds, and the bullet still rattling around inside her, and bleeding like a stuck pig, and you have the gall to tell her she'll be _fine?"_

Fixing the bigmouth with a look that would have fried bacon, Artie said sternly, "Mrs Mills, with all due respect, if you cannot be calm and encouraging for your cousin's sake, then shut up and get your…" He had to pause and edit himself. "…_self _out of here!"

"Oh! Well, I… I never!" She leapt to her feet. "Oh! When my husband comes back, Mr Gordon, he shall certainly hear from me how you've dared to treat his wife in his absence!" She snatched up the afghan and shook it at him. "First you ruin Iris' beloved heirloom afghan, and now you spit out insults and oaths against a decent, God-fearing woman!"

Artie sighed. "Mrs Mills, all I want is for Mrs Anders to have some peace and quiet while we wait for the doctor to arrive." And if only he were here already! "Do you think you can do that?"

"What I think, Mr Gordon, is that you are the rudest man it's ever been my misfortune to meet, and if I were in Iris' position, I'd insist you take your hands off me this instant!"

"Mis… Mister Gordon…"

Artie looked down at his patient, hoping that the poor woman wasn't going to follow her outraged cousin's advice. "Now, Mrs Anders, everything's going to be all right. You just rest now, and…"

She shook her head and with the hand of her uninjured arm plucked at his sleeve. "I… I'm going to die, aren't I?"

He gave her a reassuring smile. "Not if we can help it, dear lady. The doctor's on his way."

Again she shook her head and now she began to sob as well. "Oh, my poor children! My poor little orphaned babies, with no one to watch over them and raise them up!"

"Nonsense, Iris!" Bonita spoke up firmly. "Len and I are family; we'll take the children in. Of course we will, in a heartbeat!"

But if Artie thought the cousin was at last saying something comforting and encouraging, the horrified look that spread over Mrs Anders' face disabused him of that notion instantly. "You? _You _take in my darlings, after all those things you said about Rose this very night? Oh no, no, _no! _No, never! Please!" Mrs Anders clutched at Artie's sleeve, her eyes wild, her voice panicked. "Please, don't let her take my children. Don't let her! If she treats Rosie even half as horridly as she advised me to earlier… Oh, no, no! Rosie! Not my poor little frightened Rose!"

Artie tried to hush the woman, to allay her fears. What on earth could Mrs Mills have said to unnerve the widow so? The last thing Mrs Anders needed was to work herself up into a tizzy! "Now, now, Mrs Anders, don't worry! Don't fret yourself so! Everything's going to be all right, I promise you! I…" But she was still babbling, utterly panicked at the thought of the children, particularly Rose, under the care of Bonita Mills.

"Well… Mrs An… Oh, look!" Artie said at last. "Listen to me, Mrs Anders. I _guarantee _you that your children will be fine. I will stay here with them myself and act as their guardian until the doctor says you're better. Will that do? Does that ease your mind?"

"Oh! Oh, will you, Mr Gordon? Will you? Jamie likes you so, and even Rosie as well, and she doesn't take to many. You'll do that for me, for them - and, and after what I said to you earlier, ready to cast you and your friend out into the storm?" She plucked at his sleeve again, but a relieved smile was taking over her face now. She lay back, her quickened breathing slowing. "Oh, bless you, Mr Gordon, bless you! I… I can never repay you for your kindness. Bless you, bless you…"

Her voice trailed off and she slumped back into unconsciousness. "Still breathing," Artie murmured as he checked her vital signs. "Pulse a bit weak, but steady, I think. And the bleeding's about stopped too. Now we just need the doctor. But as I said earlier, I believe she's going to be fine, Mrs Mills."

"Hmph!"

He glanced up at Bonita Mills to find her glaring down at him. "I certainly hope she _will _be fine, you interloper! Imagine, her choosing a perfect stranger to be guardian of her children over her own cousin!" She gathered up the stained afghan and flounced from the room, slamming the door behind her.

Artie shook his head in bafflement. "It looks like I just made an enemy, although I have no idea how that came about. Whatever Mrs Mills said about Rose Petal earlier, though, it must have been a whopper! On the other hand…" And now he sat back on his heels and sighed expansively. Murmuring under his breath lest the injured widow overhear him, he added, "It looks like I just talked my way into being the guardian of the Anders children. And how on earth am I going to break that news to Jim?"


	9. Act Two, Part Two

**Act Two, Part Two**

This was impossible. Between the darkness and the storm, there was no way to find any sign of the gunman. Sporadic flashes of lightning would illuminate the scene with a split-second of dazzling light, but that only served to ruin the searchers' night vision, as it caused their pupils to contract time and again, blinding them in the night.

After about fifteen minutes, Sheriff Mills lifted his voice and called for a halt, and a frustrated Jim West had to agree. Whoever and wherever the gunman was, he wasn't likely to be found in this dank darkness. The two deputies were nowhere to be found either. And so the four searchers returned to the house and gradually found their way into the parlor again in pursuit of the elusive towels.

The others took a few and headed off to the rooms they'd been assigned for the duration of the storm. Only Jim remained behind with Artie and the injured woman. Jim stripped off his sopping jacket and shirt, then ruffled his hair with one of the thick cotton cloths to dry it. "How is she?" he asked.

"She woke up for a bit," Artie reported, still pressing a towel to the wound. "The bleeding's nearly stopped now, I'm glad to say. Oh, and I've had a few curious conversations in the meantime."

"Ah?" And as the pair awaited the arrival of the doctor, they filled each other in on all the odd events they'd been witness to all over the house throughout the entire evening, those involving Liliana in particular, along with the events in the wine cellar and the kitchen, Rose Petal's sanctuary in the attic, Hargill's peculiar ruminations at the broken window, and Mrs Mills' animosity. And having exhausted all that, Artie took a deep breath and added, "Oh, and one more thing, Jim: I, um, had to promise Mrs Anders I would stay here and act as guardian of her children until she's better."

Jim shot him a sharp look. "You what?"

"I promised Mrs Anders I would…"

"No, no, I heard that, but… Artie, we have an escaped prisoner we need to track down. You haven't forgotten about Devon Ramsey, have you?"

"No, Jim. I know. And we also have an unknown gunman right here that I hope to help find. It's just that… aw, Jim, if you'd seen her, if you'd heard how panicked she was, worrying about the kids! I mean…" He shrugged and shook his head. "Well, what else could I have done?"

Jim shrugged as well. "Nothing, I suppose." He gave Artie a slight punch on the shoulder. "Yeah, don't worry about it. We'll send off a telegram to Washington as soon as we can, explaining the whole situation. And the kids certainly need someone here to watch over them for now! I just hope…"

Jim fell silent. "Ah… hope what?" Artie prompted.

There came a knock at the front door. "That that's Charlie come back with the doctor," Jim replied as he strode from the room to answer it.

Artie frowned. That was not, he was sure, what Jim had started out to say. He just hoped what? That Artie's mouth hadn't just roped him into becoming the children's permanent guardian?

But then Jim led Dr Jordan into the parlor and everything got very busy for the next hour or two.

…

With a sharp _clang _a deformed bit of lead landed in a bottom of a confiscated kitchen pot. "There," said Dr Jordan. He leaned back and mopped his brow, then called, "More whiskey, if you would, Mr Gordon."

Artie, acting as the doctor's assistant, obligingly splashed another few ounces of liquor on Mrs Anders' wound. She gasped, then subsided back into unconsciousness; she had wavered in and out of awareness all through the operation to remove the bullet. Now Dr Jordan set about stitching the wound closed.

"What are her chances, doctor?" asked James West, now freshly attired in dry clothes.

"Oh, better than fifty-fifty, I'd say," Jordan replied. "_Somebody_,"and he shot a glance at his temporary assistant, "had the presence of mind to keep her from bleeding out, or we might well have lost her even before I could arrive. Now, I'll want her to have complete bed rest for the next few days, and the dressings here and on her arm will need to be changed frequently." He glanced at Artie yet again. "But you do seem to have a certain competency in medical matters, Mr Gordon. I expect I can entrust her care to you?"

Before Artie could answer, Jim spoke up for him. "Yes, that's the plan for now. He'll be staying with her, and with the children."

"Good, good," said the doctor absently. He finished the stitches, then set about bandaging all three wounds. "I would prefer she have a far more quiet environment than this central parlor will afford. Would you gentlemen take her up to her bedroom?"

"All right." Jim saw the doctor to the door and settled up with him while Artie finished clearing away the mess from the operation.

"Ready to take her up?" Jim asked once he returned to the parlor.

"Well…" said Artie. "Yes and no."

"Oh?"

"It's just this, Jim. For one thing, until the storm passes and all these guests can return to their own homes, the children were to share their mother's room with her. And do we really want the kids in there with her? Especially Rose Petal! What if we lose Mrs Anders right in front of the children?"

"All right. That's your first point."

"And here's the second." Artie pointed at the window. "Someone shot into this room from outside and hit Mrs Anders. But how do we know she was the target?"

Jim frowned. "You mean perhaps our gunman was aiming for someone else in the room?"

"Yes. You and I had only just moved away from the window when the shot came. And that bolt of lightning no doubt turned the window into a mirror for a split-second. What's to say that the gunman got dazzled and missed his target?"

"So if he wasn't going after Mrs Anders, are you saying he intended to shoot one of us?"

Artie only gave Jim a long silent glance. They were federal agents here to arrest a known hired gun. It certainly wasn't outside the realm of possibility that the shot had been meant for one of them. And for that matter, if that were the case, there was every likelihood that the shot had been fired by none other than Devon Ramsey.

"All right," said Jim. "So how do these two points tie together? And what do you have in mind?"

"Well, if Mrs Anders was the intended victim, it's probably safer all around if she isn't in her regular bedroom. And even if she wasn't the target, it's still better in my opinion if she's not in the same room with the children, just in case we, ah... well, ah…"

"In case we lose her," Jim finished for him.

With downcast eyes, Artie nodded.

"That's fine, Artie. If you want to take her to a different room, I have no objection. The only question though is where do we put her? Las Flores is full to the brim right now. Or did you have in mind to move her to our room instead?"

"In fact, that's exactly what I was thinking. You, uh, you don't mind, do you, Jim?"

Jim gave him a light clout on the shoulder. "Of course not, buddy. Let's take her up."

…

Outside in the bluster of the storm, a handful of men were on the move. Two were heading for an appointed rendezvous point. One was on horseback, slogging through the darkness, hoping at any moment to reach shelter in the town.

And one, having shooed away a mama cat and her kittens, wasn't going anywhere. He settled into the pile of hay he'd commandeered from the cats, glad to be out of the rain, annoyed to be wet with no hope of drying out, but also pleased to know that the next three days were his and his alone. And of that he planned to take full advantage.

…

Jim and Artie carried the comatose woman up the stairs to the Blue Room, doing their best not to jostle her. Once there they tucked her into bed as gently as possible. Artie checked her vital signs and her bandages. "Well, everything seems to be all right then," he said.

"Good," said Jim. "You go on and bunk in with the kids in her room. I'll stay here with her. Oh, and Artie?"

"Yeah, Jim?"

"Sleep with one eye open."

"Mm. You think whoever went after her might come back?"

"Possibly. But I was also thinking that you and I weren't the only ones who spent some time standing in front of that window."

Artie snapped his fingers. "That's right! Liliana stood there for a while as well, didn't she?" His eyes widened. "Oh, and you know who else did that too?"

Jim nodded. "Mrs Mills."

"So maybe one of them was the target instead, huh?"

"Mm, that's the question, isn't it?" said Jim. He pulled a chair up close to the bed and settled into it, stretching out his legs. "Well, good night, Artie."

"Good night, Jim." Artie grabbed a few items and headed for the door, only to stop suddenly with his hand on the knob and ask, "By the way, do you suppose we ought to warn Sheriff Mills that his wife might be a target?"

"Sure, you could do that."

"Ah…"

Jim glanced at Artie. He was still standing at the door, one hand on the knob, a sheepish look on his face. "Ah…" he said again.

Jim cocked an eyebrow at his partner. "All right, Artie, what's wrong?"

"Oh…" Artie said with a grimace. "It's silly, I know. It's just that… well, Mrs Mills doesn't seem to like me very much. I would _very _much prefer not running the risk of waking her up and…"

Jim chuckled. "All right, all right. You go see about the kids; I'll talk to Sheriff Mills."

"Ah, great! You'll do that for you? You're a real pal, James my boy!" And as Artie went cheerfully off to bed, Jim set out to have a word with the sheriff.

…

Morning slipped in quietly over the sleeping household. The excitement of the previous day, and particularly of the previous night, had worn out most of the occupants. The sun was already up before the first inhabitant of Las Flores stirred from bed and shambled to a window to look out on the day.

And that was the end of silence and sleeping in, for the glad cry of "Storm's over!" brought everyone spilling from their beds and pallets to stare out windows and doors while exclaiming joyfully over the blessed absence of rain.

"We can go home!" exulted more than one of the refugees.

"Now, now, just hold your horses!" called out a stern voice. Sheriff Mills joined the throng crowding the front porch. He scanned the sky, taking in the sparse patches of blue studded among the still-gray overcast. "For one thing," he said, "who knows but it might start raining again any moment. And for another…" He waved a hand at the yard. "Ground's still soaked, and the river's likely still over its banks. You folks sit tight yet while my deputies and I ride out and see how things stand. Frank! Ga…! Oh, tarnation!" he added as he suddenly recalled what had happened between the deputies the night before. "Consarn it! Just when I need 'em, there's no telling where those two young scrappers got themselves off to!"

"Here I am, Pa. I mean, Sheriff!" From around the side of the house came Frank Mills, still damp and with wisps of hay stuck to him here and there.

The sheriff frowned. "Where you been?"

"In the stable."

"What, you slept there?"

"Yes sir." At least Frank had the grace to look sheepish about it.

"Hmph. Well, go saddle up the horses, son. We got work to do. And Gabe. Where's he?"

"Oh. He, uh, headed back to town during the night."

"In that storm?" came the incredulous voice of Artemus Gordon.

"Yes sir," said Frank.

"On foot?" That was James West.

"Oh, no sir! He took his horse when he left. Said, uh, said he'd be at the jail, ready to receive any new messages we might get for now. Y'know."

"Oh, he did, did he?" said the sheriff gruffly. "Well, let's hope he made it then. At least the two of you worked out your differences, right?"

Frank gave a nod that included a shrug.

"All right, well, like I said, go saddle up our horses so we can head down to the river and see how things're going. Care to come along, Mr West, Mr Gordon?"

"I'll come," said West. And at the small glance he shot to Artie, Artie added, "Then I'll stay here."

"Oh? Oh, right," said the sheriff. "The kids, yeah. And Iris? How's she?"

"Resting comfortably," said Artie. "I'll see about her as well."

"_Meanwhile_," Mrs Mills broke in on the conversation, flashing a moment's evil eye at Mr Gordon, "you men will eat some breakfast before you go out. And, Frank, get into some dry clothes!"

"Yes ma'am," said Frank. And the sheriff, with a hint of irony in his voice, waited a second, then echoed his son.

…

Mrs Mills took charge as usual. She fixed the breakfast, fed the household, saw the three men off, then organized everyone who was left into work parties to see to the regular chores of Las Flores as well as the extraordinary work of clearing away the mess of knocked-down branches the storm had left behind - and all the while diligently ignored the existence of Artemus Gordon.

And for his part, Artie organized his own smaller workforce, consisting entirely of Liliana Anders, whom he took over to Jim's room and installed at her mother's side. "Whatever she needs for the next few hours," he said, "I'll want you to take care of. Let me show you how to change her bandages." He started by going to the widow's side and checking her vitals. "Pulse is strong. Respiration, a bit fast." He laid a hand on her forehead. "No fever."

As he worked and Liliana watched, the girl said, "But who could have wanted to shoot Ma?"

He shook his head. "You tell me; you know her better. Does she have any enemies?"

"Ma? Of course not! Everyone loves Ma."

He shot a glance at her, noting a little frown knitting her brows. "Everyone?"

Now she scowled. "Certainly, everyone! Why would anyone have reason to hate my mother, to want her dead?"

Artie chose to let that question pass. "Now, you're not to tell anyone this is where we've hidden your mother. Whoever attempted to kill her might give it yet another try. So for the time being, if anyone asks, she's in her own bedroom, resting comfortably, and taking no visitors. _No _visitors whatsoever. You understand?"

The girl gave a nervous laugh. "Mr Gordon, you're scaring me! You really think it's necessary to keep Ma hidden like this?"

"What do you think?" he asked.

"I…" She blinked and wrung her hands together. "Oh… Oh, I don't know what to think! Why would someone shoot Ma? What's going on here?"

"That, Liliana, is what I intend to find out. Now, you know what your mother asked of me, right?"

She nodded. "She asked you to act as guardian for me and my brother and sister until she's better. But that's not necessary, you know," she added, lifting her chin. "I'm nineteen. I'm old enough to take care of the house, and tend to Jamie and Rose as well. I'm not helpless!"

"Good. I'm counting on that. You can take care of all that as much as possible - when you're not tending to your mother - and I'll be the bodyguard, watching out that no one takes any more shots at anyone. Deal?"

She blinked at him. "I… I thought you would argue. I thought you would treat me as a child and tell me to do what you say, since Ma made you the guardian."

He looked up at her. "But what you just pointed out is true. You're nineteen. Plenty of young ladies your age are already married and taking care of their own households, some with babies even." He gave her a crooked smile. "At least you won't have a baby to tend, right?"

She stared at him, speechless for a moment. "Well… all right then. I'll see to the house - well, as much as Aunt Bonita will let me! - and you'll, you'll guard us."

"Fair enough," said Artie. He gave her a confident smile, smiling on the inside as well. He had wanted to gain the girl's trust quickly, and he was pretty sure he had just done so. "Here," he added, "I've finished with your mother's arm now, and she would probably be less embarrassed if you would change the other bandage, don't you think?"

"Oh, I suppose that's true." She came and took Artie's place at her mother's side as he moved back to make room for her. At his instruction, she removed the old bandage, gently cleansed the wound, then packed it and applied a fresh bandage. "How's that, Mr Gordon?" she asked.

"Good job," he said. "Oh, and if it's easier for you, you can just call me Artemus, if you'd like."

"I… I'm not sure. That seems a bit familiar," she said.

"Uncle Artie then?"

She considered it, then nodded. "All right. That sounds fine. Uncle Artie it is."

"Good." He gave her a pat on the shoulder. "Well, I'll head outside for a while to help with the clean-up. Come get me if she wakes, or if anything else happens, all right?"

She smiled in return. "I'll do that, Uncle Artie." She settled into the chair by her mother's bed. And as he slipped out the door and closed it behind him, Artie heard Liliana sigh and murmur to herself, "Oh, but what could have become of Gabe? I wonder what really went on between him and Frank last night!"

You and me both, thought Artie.

…

"Well," said Sheriff Mills as he reined his horse about to head back to Las Flores, "looks like everyone upstream of the Maldonados' place can return home - albeit to an almighty clean-up job, that is. Still, if everyone pitches in, should be able to make some good headway, right, Mr West?"

The agent nodded. "If the downstream folks help now and the upstream folks help them later once the downstream people can return home, it should all go pretty quickly."

"Yup, that's what I figure. We'll go back to Las Flores and let everyone know."

The three rode along together until they reached a fork in the road. West pointed along the right branch. "That's the way back to Macon?"

"Yes sir."

West nodded and touched the brim of his hat to the sheriff and deputy. "I'll see you gentlemen later then."

Frank gawped. "But… but ain't you coming with us?"

West's horse danced in the road as he reined up again. "I have work to do. Remember? You told me yourself, Deputy, that there was a jailbreak in Tyler just as the storm hit. Mr Gordon and I were responsible for putting Devon Ramsey behind bars, and we're responsible to see that he winds up behind bars again." Again he touched his hat brim in farewell, then called for a gallop from his horse and was soon out of sight around a bend in the road.

"But, but, Pa," said Frank as he and his father took the left branch of the fork, "if he needs to round up a jailbird who escaped in Tyler, why's he going into Macon instead?"

"Never you mind, Frank. He's a federal man, and that's federal business, and none of your concern."

But as Frank rode along with his father, he dropped back slightly to keep his face out of sight, because to his way of thinking, whatever business Mr West had in town likely wasn't federal business at all, and likely _was _very much Frank's concern.

And the last thing he wanted right now was for his pa to see just how worried he was.


	10. Act Two, Part Three

**Act Two, Part Three**

As Jim West rode into town, a carriage passed him on its way out along the same road, and with someone at the reins whom Jim recognized. He wondered briefly where the man might be going, but then Jim saw the reason he'd come into Macon first before starting for Tyler, and he headed for the sheriff's office.

Or rather, he headed for the general store next door to the sheriff's office. The porch of the store had been knocked down by the storm and the front windows broken; about half a dozen men were swarming around the store helping with the clean up, among them was a certain Gabe Owens.

"Deputy Owens!" Jim called after he dismounted and tied his horse's reins at the hitching rail.

"Morning, Mr West," Gabe returned as he helped the others lift a broken portion of the porch roof to carry it away.

West came over to shoulder part of the load. "I need to speak to you for a while," he said. "Official business."

"Ah." They bore the broken roof out behind the store where a large pile of the debris left by the storm was growing. They helped toss their burden onto the pile, then Gabe said, "Sorry, fellows. I'll be back shortly," before leading the way to the sheriff's office.

"Have a seat, Mr West," Gabe offered. "Coffee?" At West's nod, the deputy stepped over to the potbellied stove and poured two steaming mugs. Both men savored the hot brew for a few seconds, then Jim came to the point.

"The other deputy mentioned last night that the sheriff had received a telegram informing him about the jailbreak in Tyler during the storm."

"That's right. Burke Johnson and Devon Ramsey. Still at large, as far as I know."

Jim nodded. "So you've had further word on the jailbreak?"

"Well, actually, no," said Gabe. "Max Tuttle over at the telegraph office stopped in first thing this morning to let me know the lines are down somewhere between here and Tyler. He rode out to find the damage and see what's needed to fix it, and once he gets back, some of us who've been helping at the general store plan to gather the supplies and go get the telegraph lines back in order."

"And in the meantime, you haven't heard anything more from the sheriff at Tyler."

"Right."

Jim finished his coffee and leaned back in his seat. "Frank says that he spent the night in the stable, and that you rode back here during the storm."

Gabe shot him a puzzled look. "Yeah. So? Does this have anything to do with the jailbreak?"

"You rode from Las Flores back here to Macon in that thunderstorm."

Gabe regarded the man for a long moment, then shrugged. "Well, yeah. My horse was none to happy with me, but I made it back safely."

"So I see. But when the sheriff and I along with some other men searched the stable, we saw no sign of either one of you. And your horse was still there."

"Searched the… Why were you searching the stable?"

Jim met his eyes steadily. "To look for the gunman."

"Gun…!" Gabe goggled at the federal agent. "What… what… _what _gunman?"

"The one who shot through the parlor window shortly after you and Frank were ejected into the storm, at a time when the entire Anders family, along with my partner and myself, were in the parlor."

The young man blanched. He blinked rapidly. "Shot… shot into…" He swallowed hard, then asked, "Was… was anyone hurt?"

"Yes," said Jim, observing the deputy closely.

"Who? Who? Was… is Liliana all right?"

West nodded. "She's fine."

A weight lifted off the deputy's shoulders. "Oh, good! Um, but what about the kids? Are they all right?"

"They are. As is my partner, and as you can see, I'm fine as well."

Gabe gave a watery smile, which faded an instant later. "Oh no. Then… her mother? Mrs Anders?"

"Resting comfortably. Dr Jordan says she's got a better than fifty-fifty chance."

Gabe lifted a hand and ran it over his face as a mumbled oath broke from him. "Mrs Anders, shot! This can't be real. But… How's Liliana bearing up? Is she all right? Of all times for such a thing to happen!" And suddenly, without warning, he slammed his fist into the wall.

"That wasn't a wise thing to do," Jim commented a few minutes later as he finished wrapping the young man's hand in a bandage. "I don't think anything's broken, but there's a lot that needs to be done right now to clean up from this storm, and that was your good hand, wasn't it?"

Gabe nodded miserably. "I'm sorry, Mr West. It's just… Look, you were wondering where Frank and I were while you were searching the stable. That was how long after you kicked us out?"

"Maybe twenty minutes."

"Yeah, well." Looking sheepish, he said, "Likely we were still chasing each other around, yelling at each other, trying to bust each other's chops."

Jim cocked a skeptical eyebrow. "If that's what you two were trying to do, it seems to me that you failed. You don't look much worse than you did when we tossed you out into the storm, and Frank didn't look to be in bad shape either."

Gabe nodded. "Yeah, well, that's why I said 'trying.' It was so dark, except when the lightning flashed, that we kept blundering around and missing. We wound up out by the side gate - do you know where that is?"

Jim shook his head.

"Yeah, out by the side gate. And that's where Frank came up with his great idea. I wish now I hadn't agreed!"

"What's this great idea then?"

"He said that if I'm so sure of Liliana, that I should back off for three days and let him talk to her, let him pitch woo at her without me interfering. And when the three days are up, if she still wants me, he'll back off and stop pressing his claims, even give us his blessing and try to convince her mother to do the same."

Jim's eyebrows lifted. "And you agreed to that?"

"Well… He kept pushing, saying how I couldn't possibly be so sure about Liliana's feelings, that it would take him just three days to change her mind. And I guess I let my pride get the better of me, since I told him at last to go ahead and he'd find out the truth, that she's mine and always will be."

Jim shook his head. Young idiot! "So then you returned to the stable…"

"Right. Got my horse and came back here, flinching every couple of minutes whenever the lightning flashed. But Mrs Anders - Doc says she'll be ok?"

"He's hopes she will, yes."

Gabe made a sound like an enraged bull. "And here I am, stuck over here, bound by my own promise not to go near Liliana for three days! I should be there with her, comforting her! And what if… what if her ma dies before I can come back?"

West stood to his feet. "I'll be heading to Tyler to speak with the sheriff there and start searching for Devon Ramsey again. But if you want, I can go back to Las Flores first and speak with Liliana for you."

"No! No, that was part of my promise, that I wouldn't contact her in any way for these three days, not even by messenger." He scowled fiercely. "That dang Frank Mills though! None of this could have come at a worse time for me, nor a better one for him! It's almost as if he planned this!"

Almost, thought Jim as he took his leave and mounted up again to continue on towards Tyler. Almost. Except that, until Gabe Owens had informed him of Frank's plan to get rid of his rival for three days, Jim wouldn't have suspected Frank of being able to put together a plan to successfully rid himself of his whiskers every morning. Or even be able to find his own rear end if he had a map and a two-day head-start.

Jim West had a lot to think over as he rode off towards Tyler.

…

Sheriff Mills' news was welcome indeed at Las Flores. Shortly most of the men were getting ready to set out towards the upriver homesteads and start the mammoth task of cleaning everything up, with not a few of the women and youngsters making ready to go along with them. Mrs Mills though, who had been in the midst of fixing a noon meal big enough to feed them all, put her foot down and insisted on everyone eating first.

And once that was over, she reorganized her much-smaller workforce to clear away after the meal.

Artie slipped off with a steaming plateful of food and let himself into the bedroom. "Liliana, I'm sure you must be famished by now," he was saying as he closed the door and turned around, "so I brought you some… Oh, Rose Petal! What are you doing here?" He frowned; he hadn't wanted either of the younger children in here with their mother.

But there sat Rose in the bedside chair, a book in her lap. She scowled at Artie and put a finger to her lips, then cut her eyes at her sleeping mother.

"Excuse me then!" Artie said, dropping his voice to a whisper. "Where did your sister go?"

Rosie shrugged.

Hmm. "Well… Are you hungry? I didn't see you at the table just now."

Again she shrugged, her eyes on her book.

So cooperative! "All right then, would you hold this plate for me? I'd like to check on your mother and see how she's doing."

Rose sat up a little straighter now and accepted the plate. As Artie leaned over Mrs Anders and checked her vitals, the girl craned forward, watching intently.

Once he was done, Artie stood up and smiled over at the child. "She seems to be doing fine. Has she awakened?"

Rose shook her head.

Artie straightened the covers for the comatose woman, then looked around for another chair. Finding none, he instead rested an elbow on top of the tall dresser. "Well," he asked genially, "so how long have you been up here?"

The child shrugged once more.

"Was Liliana here when you came in?"

Now she nodded. She also took enough interest in the plate of food she was still holding to pop something from it into her mouth.

Well, at last he was getting a real answer instead of a shrug! "I see. I assume she needed to go do something and asked you to watch over your mother?"

Rose nodded and started to eat some more of the food, but stopped suddenly with the fork nearly to her mouth. Tipping her head, she pointed the forkful at her mother, giving Artie a quizzical look.

"Oh, are you wondering if we should feed her? Well, we can't do that until she wakes up." And at the gleam that came up in the child's eyes, he added hastily, "And we should wait and let her do that on her own. She's…" He winced, wondering how much to explain to the little girl about her mother's condition, whether to tell her that Mrs Anders would be in a great deal of pain should she awake. "Well, she's sleeping now," he said at last, "and that's what she needs to do to get better. So let's just let her sleep."

Rose nodded slowly, and Artie could all but see the gears meshing in her head as she apparently filled in all the gaps that he had left out.

At length she glanced down at the food again, wrinkled her nose, and held it out to him. Well, Artie certainly couldn't blame her if she'd lost her appetite. He took the plate and brought it back to the dresser to set it on top, then leaned against the piece of furniture again.

"Now, Rose Petal," he said gently, "you know your mother is very, er… sick right now."

She shook her head firmly. With a ferocious scowl, she made a gun of her hand and mimed firing it. Then she glared up at Artie, clenched her fists tightly, and shook them.

"Yes, yes, you're right. She's not sick; someone did this to her. Mr West and the sheriff and some of the other men tried to find the man who hurt your mother, and couldn't. But in the meantime, until your mother's well again, she's asked me to stay here and watch over you and Jamie and Liliana. You understand? I'll be here until she's better."

Rose waved a hand toward the bedroom window, made a gun of her hand again, then grabbed that wrist violently with her other hand. Then she cut her eyes at Artie, piercing him with a questioning glance.

What was she… Oh! "Are you asking us the catch the man with the gun, the one who shot your mother?"

Rose nodded vigorously.

He nodded in return. "I hope we do. We plan to. And in the meantime, I'll be here acting as your guardian and…" He trailed off as she made a disgusted face. "What, you don't want me here?"

She shook her head; it was hard for him to discern what she meant by that though… Ah!

"The word 'guardian'? You don't like that term?"

She made the face again.

"Well, I already told Liliana she can call me 'Uncle Artie.' Would you like to call me that too? Or at least think of me that way?"

She gave it a moment's thought, then shrugged. And then, just for a split second, Artie caught a hint of the smile she was trying to suppress.

The split second and the smile were interrupted by the bedroom door opening and closing again rapidly as Liliana rushed in. "Rose! Rose, you need to come right away!" she said even before she realized someone else was in the room. "Oh! Mr G… I mean, Uncle Artie! I didn't know you'd be here."

He was standing upright now, no longer lounging against the dresser. "What is it?" he asked. "What's wrong?"

"It's… well, it's the strangest thing! Mr Craven just arrived and insisted on me gathering Jamie and Rose into the parlor to…"

"Mr Craven. He's the lawyer, isn't he?"

"Yes. Yes, he is. And he, well… I don't understand this."

"You don't understand what?"

Liliana spread her hands in bafflement. "Mr Craven says he's come here to commiserate with us in our time of grief and to read us our mother's will!"


	11. Act Two, Part Four

**Act Two, Part Four**

Midway along the road to Tyler, a stream of invectives from beyond the next bend informed Jim that he was not alone out here in the middle of nowhere. He eased Blackjack forward round that bend, and was treated to the sight of a full-grown man literally dancing with fury in the road ahead, his face livid with rage as he jumped and stamped, occasionally lifting his fists to shake them at the sky above - and all the while, the man's horse stood placidly at the roadside, calmly cropping at some vegetation.

Blackjack nickered a greeting, and the other horse replied. And at that moment, discovering himself to have an audience, the man ceased at once both his dance and his blasphemies.

Well, most of his blasphemies. For he glared at the stranger riding slowly toward him and growled out, "Who the devil are you?"

"West. James West." Jim reined up by the man's side and asked, "Need some help, friend?"

The man snorted. "Well, that all depends."

"On what?"

"On what your opinion is of summary execution!"

Jim's eyebrows rose. "You have in mind executing someone?"

"Maybe. If I can lay my hands on the low-down, no-account, worthless skunk who did _that_, you better believe the first thought in my head will be 'String 'im up and be done with 'im!' " The man waved a hand toward the roadside, and Jim took a closer look.

All down that side of the road, like soldiers on parade, stood a long line of telegraph poles, the wire stretching from one to the next - except for right here. At the top of one pole dangled about a foot or two of wire, while from its nearest neighbor the wire hung limp, reaching almost to the ground.

Jim dismounted and went over for a closer look. "Hmm," he grunted as he inspected the free end of the telegraph wire, "I'd say the storm didn't do that."

"And I'd say you're right, mister," the man agreed. "That was cut through with steel, or my name isn't…"

"Max Tuttle," Jim finished for him.

Tuttle blinked. "You know me?"

"Know of you, at least. Deputy Owens told me the telegraph was down."

"Ah!" said Tuttle. "Then you're on your way into Tyler to use the telegraph there?"

"That was the idea, yes."

"Well, can you do me a favor, Mr West?" Tuttle nodded back along the road toward Macon. "I'm heading back to town to get together a crew of men to help me fix this. Since you're going into Tyler anyway, would you mind letting the telegraph operator over there know what's going on? Elmore Quincy's his name."

Jim nodded. "Yes, I've met him. I sent a wire from Tyler not two days ago. I'll tell him about this."

"Thanks." Tuttle held out a hand and they shook in farewell.

"Oh," Tuttle added as Jim remounted his horse. "And, uh… sorry about blistering your ears when you rode up."

"No problem." He glanced at the dangling wire again and said, "I wouldn't want to be the fellow who cut that, not when you find out who he is."

"Um… Yeah," said Tuttle, and he rubbed at the back of his neck as James West rode on.

…

"Read your mother's will! Why would he do that?" Artie exclaimed.

"I know. It made not the least bit of sense to me either," Liliana replied. "But the man is here and insists on all three of us gathering… Rose?"

Artie turned to look. The chair at the bedside was vacant; the child had disappeared again.

Liliana stormed over to the most likely hiding place in the room, a large wardrobe. "Now, Rose!" she scolded. "We don't have time for this. I know we've had far more visitors in the house lately than we've had in ages, but please! Can't you just come along right now and get it over with?" She grabbed the handle of the wardrobe door and tried to yank it open.

It opened no more than two inches before slamming itself shut again.

"Rose…!" she started again, but Artie interrupted. "No, no, let her be. You're right that she's probably had far too much company around these past couple of days. She can stay here and continue to watch over your mother for now."

"But… but Mr Craven wants all three of us present!"

"Yes, and he's going to get three of us. I'll just take Rose's place."

Liliana stared at him. "What?"

"Well, your mother named me as guardian, so it's my place to be there while the lawyer conducts legal business, right? Besides," he added conspiratorially, "I'd kind of like to take a look at the fellow. Mr West met him, but I haven't yet. So if you would, my dear Liliana?" Artie crooked his elbow and offered it to the young lady, and after a moment's hesitation, she took it. He made a genial bow of his head, then, addressing the bedroom in general, Artie said, "You're in charge here then, Rose Petal. We'll be back shortly. Hold down the fort, please!" And he escorted Liliana down to the parlor.

They entered that room to find a very baffled-looking Jamie perched on the sofa. Frowning at the boarded-up window and holding a leather case in one hand and an envelope in the other was a distinguished, nattily-attired gentleman whose well-kempt neckbeard and supercilious demeanor matched the description Jim had given of the man in the wine cellar.

At the opening of the door, the gentleman turned and said in grave tones, "Ah, Liliana! There you are, my dear." He clasped her hand warmly and bestowed an avuncular kiss upon her cheek. "But who is this stranger accompanying you?" he asked. "And where is Rose Evelyn?"

"Her middle name starts with a short E, not a long one, Mr Craven," Liliana replied as she disengaged her hand from his. "You surely know that by now. And you also know that Rose doesn't like to be called by both names together."

"_And _that she hides like a frightened rabbit whenever company comes calling," Jamie put in, earning himself a swift frown from his older sister.

"As for this gentleman," Liliana continued, laying a hand on Artie's arm, "he is, ah…"

"…the children's Uncle Artie," Artie broke in, smiling graciously. "Artemus Gordon. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr, ah, Craven, was it?" He whisked the envelope out of the lawyer's hand so as to pump the hand enthusiastically.

"Ah, yes. Yes. Quite." Now it was lawyer Craven's turn to have to disengage his hand. "The children's uncle, you say? Curious, for I don't recall ever hearing of you before. From which side of the family do you come?"

"Distant cousin," Artie responded, secure in the fact that he wasn't exactly lying, for after all, weren't all humans related one to another, connected by bonds of blood or marriage stretching all the way back to their mutual kinship with Noah? "But tell me, Mr Craven," Artie added, taking upon himself the role of host and gesturing the lawyer to a chair, "according to Liliana, you've come to read Mrs Anders' will to us. But why would you do such a thing? She isn't dead."

"I hardly think it's the place of a 'distant cousin' to intrude himself into such intimate family matters as to… Excuse me, what did you just say?"

"That I'm the children's uncle?"

"No, no, not that! You… you said that… Iris lives?"

"Mm, yes, I believe I did say that." Artie casually slipped his hands, and the envelope they held, behind his back as he watched Mr Craven's face transform, the supercilious disdain dropping in favor of a look of utter amazement.

"She… but… but I was told…!"

"Told what?" Artie prompted. "And by whom?"

"Why…" The lawyer produced a fine silk handkerchief and dabbed at his mouth. "The, the doctor, of course. I saw Dr Jordan this morning and he informed me of the, well, the incident…"

"Incident, Mr Craven?"

"Why, the, ah…" His eyes flicked toward the children for an instant, then he hissed out, "The shooting, of course. But I, I suppose I must have misheard him. I was certain he said there was nothing that could be done!"

"Mm," Artie responded with a shrug. "Nothing _more _to be done perhaps. Dr Jordan operated and removed the bullet, and now Mrs Anders is resting comfortably while she heals."

Craven gave a soft laugh, almost a giggle. "But that's extraordinary! It's… it's an absolute miracle! How wonderful! You children must be so very happy!"

"We'd be happier if Ma hadn't been shot," Jamie muttered.

"Well," said the lawyer briskly, "then there's no need to read the will at this time." He held out his hand to Artie, fixing him with a steady look.

"Hmm?" said Artie. "Oh, right: this!" He smiled as he returned the envelope and watched the lawyer tuck it away inside the leather case.

"Good day then, Liliana, Jamie," Craven intoned. "And good day, Mr, ah, Gordon."

"Good day, Mr Craven." Artie led the way to the front door and nodded to the lawyer as the man descended the steps and climbed into his carriage. Then, flanked by Liliana and Jamie, Artie watched the carriage drive out of sight, waving merrily to their departing guest as he left.

"Well! That's that," said Artie. "Care to adjourn to the parlor once more?"

"What was that all about?" Jamie complained.

"That is the question of the hour, my boy," said Artie, "and the answer is very likely…" He reached inside a pocket and unfurled a sheet of paper. "…here!"

"What?" said Jamie.

"What's that?" asked Liliana.

"This," said Artie, "is the will our lawyer friend came all the way out here to read." He held it up and began to peruse it.

"_What?" _said Jamie.

"But… but you gave it back to him!" exclaimed Liliana.

"Gave him back the envelope, yes. The contents, no. The contents are right here. Who is David Jeremiah Anders, Jr?"

Slowly Jamie raised his hand, then gave it a tiny self-conscious wave.

Artie tilted his head. "Really? How do you get Jamie from Jeremiah?"

"Long story," said Liliana. "Why did you ask about Jamie's full name though?"

"Because," he replied, turning the handwritten page so the children could see it, "according to this will, upon your mother's demise, the entirety of Las Flores with all its property and contents pass into the possession of one David Jeremiah Anders, Jr."

And for the third time since the lawyer's departure, Jamie said _**"What?"**_


	12. Act Two, Part Five

**Act Two, Part Five**

Jim West rode into Tyler and headed straight for the telegraph office to deliver Tuttle's message, only to find the building was empty. Curious. He stepped out onto the porch again and looked up and down the street.

A good bit of activity was going on over at the jail. Jim strode closer, taking in the gaping hole that had appeared in one side of the building since he had last seen it two days before. A crew of bricklayers were at work closing up the hole, and nearby stood a large man with a star pinned to his vest, his fists planted on his hips as he supervised the repair job.

"Sheriff Wilkins," Jim said, stepping up beside the lawman and holding out a hand.

The man whirled. "Oh! Hello again, Mr West. Yeah, I figured you'd be along again as soon as you got word." He grasped the federal man's hand in greeting. "And where's Mr Gordon?"

"Busy with another case the storm dropped into our laps. The deputies at Macon informed us of the, ah, jailbreak."

Wilkins snorted. "Yeah, I suppose you can call it that! I'm sorry to say that we haven't seen hide nor hair of either of the fugitives since. And on top of that, the telegraph lines are down."

Jim nodded. "Between here and Macon, yes, Deputy Owens told me, and..."

"Gabe Owens? He's still with Sheriff Mills then? He used to be one of my deputies, that Owens. But he's wrong there. The lines are down coming _into _Tyler, on the opposite side from Macon. Elmore Quincy - you met him the other day, didn't you? - informed me of the problem sometime yesterday afternoon, and… What?" For the sheriff now took note of the hard look in Jim West's eyes.

"And Max Tuttle found a break in the lines between Tyler and Macon - a break that had been made with a steel blade."

Wilkins gave a low whistle and shook his head. "Elmore's out there east of town right now looking for the spot where the lines are down. And that's what Max found west of us? How much you wanna bet, Mr West, that when Elmore finds the break, it's a manmade one too, hmm?" Wilkins ran a hand over his face and added, "Hasn't been all that many years since the telegraph was first strung as far as Tyler, and now we're so used to it, it feels strange to be cut off from the outside world, doesn't it?"

"Cut off because someone wants us cut off, apparently," said Jim. So much for apprising Washington of the unforeseen complications in the case! "Well, what about Ramsey then? Could this be his doing? And do you have any idea where he went?"

Wilkins shook his head, a rueful look on his face. "Oh, I wouldn't put sabotaging the telegraph past him - ain't much I _would _put past a man like Devon Ramsey! - but as for where he went, I'm afraid with that I just can't help you. When that tree fell and knocked a hole in the wall, I happened to be inside, standing right by the wall that came down, and, well…" He took off his hat and rubbed at the bandage that was wrapped around his head. "As you might put it, the tree won. By the time I knew what was what again, Ramsey and his cellmate were long gone. Couple of my deputies lit out after them, but they lost them in the storm."

"Where?"

"Out beyond the barbershop there. You can have a look if you want, but the storm wiped out any traces we could find to show where they went."

"Thank you. I will. And did Ramsey say anything while he was here? Anything that might help? Anything at all?"

"Not really. Just bragged about how he had unfinished business, and that neither Hell nor high water would keep him from earning his pay, much less some dinky little sheriff's office out in a picayune backwater like Tyler!" He gave a chuckle. "Oh, our mayor would've loved him, if Ramsey had only stayed around a bit longer! Real winning personality, y'know?"

Jim nodded. He and Artie had been on the receiving end of some of Ramsey's barbs themselves. "What about the other man? What was he in for?"

"Burke Johnson? Kicked up a fuss over to the saloon. Got drunk, scared some folks, got into a fight, and then my deputies wound up hauling his outsized carcass off to the jail here. Once he sobered up, he claimed he was just passing through on his way to get a job with an old buddy, said he never woulda hurt anyone, not even drunk. But…" He shook his head. "Well, a man that size, you don't wanna take any chances! I was holding him for the next time the circuit judge would be in town, but then the storm blew in and…" He waved a hand at the hole in the jail. "Now he's a fugitive."

"I'll be searching for Ramsey. Give me a description, and I'll keep an eye out for Johnson as well."

"I appreciate that, Mr West." And the sheriff obliged with a depiction that might well fit Dr Loveless' favorite minion Voltaire.

Jim frowned but nodded. "I see. Well, I'll be in touch."

They shook hands again. "Hope you catch 'em," said Wilkins. "I know Johnson's none of your business, but I'll rest easier once he's back behind bars. And Ramsey even more so! Here we had a dangerous hired gun like him corralled, and the weather itself cuts him loose again!" He shook his head in disgust, then turned back to staring at the hole in the jail that the masons were steadily closing up again.

Taking the reins of his horse, Jim walked across the street and around back of the barbershop to begin his search for any signs of the fugitives' trail.

…

Liliana stood with her mouth agape for a moment. "But… but that doesn't make a lick of sense! May I see that?"

She held out her hand, and Artie passed the will to her. She scanned it quickly, shaking her head. "This doesn't look like Ma's handwriting."

"No," Artie responded, "and it probably isn't. It's a well drawn-up document, likely copied out by the lawyer's secretary. Look at the end; are there initials?"

She did as he asked. "Yes. Yes, there are. Capital HC, then a slash, then some smaller letters." She peered more closely. "Ah… 'bjt'?"

Artie nodded. " 'HC' for Harvey Craven, and the 'bjt' would be the initials of his secretary's name, no doubt."

Now Jamie reached for the will. "But how'd you do that?" he asked. "How'd you get this away from him?"

"And won't he miss it?" Liliana added, not ready to relinquish the document quite yet.

"To answer your question," said Artie to the boy, "misdirection. And to answer _yours_…" And somehow as Artie seated himself on the sofa, Liliana found that the paper she'd avoided losing to her brother was now in the hands of their guardian. "…once he realizes it's gone, he'll likely show up here to look for it. And we'll give it back to him, explaining that it, oh, somehow wound up on the floor."

Jamie's eyes grew big. "You want us to _lie? _Ma won't like that a bit, us lying to him!"

"Oh?" Instantly Artie dropped the paper onto the braided rug, then snatched it up again before either of the youngsters could make a grab for it. "There. Found it on the floor. We won't be lying." He started reading through the will again.

A moment later, the parlor door sprang open. "Where is she?" a gruff voice demanded. "Is she gone at last?"

"Ah… who, er… of whom are you speaking, Mr Hargill?" said Artie.

The two children, having jumped and stared at the door at the manager's sudden entrance, now turned back to their guardian, and blinked in surprise to find his hands were now empty. Where was the will?

Hargill scowled as he stalked into the room, glaring in all directions. "_Her!" _he growled. "You know good and well who I mean! _Her!"_

"Actually, I don't…" Artie began, only to be interrupted by a frowning Jamie, saying, "What, you mean Rose?" and an ashen Liliana, saying, "Oh! Surely you don't mean Ma!"

Hargill sneered. "Why would I mean either one of them? No, her, _her! _That, that nosy little whirlwind, all over the house, upstairs and down, prying into every da… danged thing, acting like she's working when she's really just being a busybody, poking her nose into stuff she ain't got no business with, making my life an even bigger misery than it's been these past four years!"

Artie's eyes lit. "Oh! You mean Mrs Mills?"

Hargill jabbed a finger at him. "That's exactly who I mean: _her!"_ Again he peered sharply around the parlor. "Where'd she go? Is she still here? Most everyone else done took off as soon as the sheriff gave the word, and good riddance too! Can't run a business when the place is flipped on its head like that, turned into some d… durned-fool charity home. I'm just hoping _she's _gone too, so I can finally, uh… well…" Hargill's voice trailed off.

Artie shot the man an attentive glance. "So you can finally what, Mr Hargill?"

The man lifted his chin belligerently. "So I can finally have some peace and quiet to get my work done, that's what!"

"Ah, work," said Artie. He gestured toward the broken window, indicating the great outdoors. "Cleaning up from the storm?"

Hargill shot him a shifty look. "Maybe…"

"Really? Because when we were all outside this morning, clearing away the branches and whatnot… Well, it's a funny thing, but I don't remember seeing _you _out there."

Again the man's chin lifted. "I had other business to attend to!"

"Oh, you did." Whatever look was on Artie's face, it was mighty close to a smirk.

"Indeed I did! And what about you?" Now Hargill waved a hand at the outside. "Everyone else cleared out, heading upstream to get all the neighbor's places back in shape. Why didn't you go too?"

"I could ask the same of you," Artie pointed out.

"But I asked first! Go… goldurn it, man, you're as nosy as _she _is!"

"All right, I'll go first then. I too have business here at Las Flores now. Last night after she was shot, Mrs Anders appointed me to be guardian over her children and so…"

"She _what?"_

"You, ah, have a problem with that, Mr Hargill?"

He glared at the government agent as if Artie had just grown a second head. "You mean you ain't leaving?"

"Not until she's well again, no."

Hargill rolled his eyes at the ceiling and muttered a few choice words, this time not bothering to censor himself in front of the children.

Artie seized him by the arm and steered him toward the door. "Look," he hissed with whispering vehemence, "you know perfectly well that a man watches his words in front of women and children. Now if you have a problem with the fact that I'm staying on until Mrs Anders recovers, then we can adjourn to the office to have this out in private, but as long as I'm guardian over these youngsters, you will _mind your manners, mister!"_

"You got a lotta gall, buddy, horning your way in here and telling me what I can or can't do!" Hargill spat back. "Why, I oughta…!"

But whatever pieces of his mind he was about to present to Artemus Gordon were drowned out by a loud clatter from above their heads. All four froze, their eyes wide as they stared up at the ceiling from which a continuing flood of clangs and crashes poured forth.

"You little hooligan!" hollered a voice from the second story. "If I catch you, I'll… Ow!"

"Wait - who was that?" Artie exclaimed. They all unfroze then and lit out for the staircase with the two men in the lead, all of them wondered what on earth was all that racket still going on upstairs.


	13. Act Two, Part Six

**Act Two, Part Six**

The tracks of the fugitives were, as expected, nonexistent. After casting about for a while, Jim found a little-used trail that seemed to lead back toward Macon, so he mounted up and followed it, stopping now and again to look for any signs of anyone or anything.

A couple of miles down the trail where a second path joined into this one, he at last found something of interest: a line of hoof prints in the soggy soil. The prints ran northwards, heading away from both towns and off in the general direction of Dallas, the same place Jim and Artie had been going to catch their train again.

Someone taking a back road to leave the Piney Woods right after a jailbreak and a shooting. Hmm. Jim set off to follow the hoof prints.

…

Halfway up the stairs Jamie managed to sprint past the two men, leaving Liliana in her long ladylike skirts to bring up the rear. They all raced upstairs as best they could and rounded the corner looking for the source of the continuing noise of yelps and oaths. And there they found, of all things, Frank Mills backed up against the wall opposite the Blue Room, his arms flung over his head as a barrage of knickknacks and oddments flew at him from the agents' room.

And what was the origin of that bombardment but Rose Petal with a determined scowl upon her face as she launched one thing after another at the deputy, and with dead-eyed accuracy too!

"Rosie!" cried Jamie. "Are you ok?" He ran to his little sister

"Is _she _ok?" Frank uncovered his head long enough to shriek out those words, only to have a glass ashtray rebound off his forehead.

"What's that little hellion up to this time?" growled Hargill, rushing to the deputy. "She's bloodied him, that little monster!" He yanked out his bandanna and pressed it to a gash in Frank's scalp.

"Rose Petal!" cried Artie. He ran to the girl as well, relieved her of the next projectile she'd been about to launch at Frank - a hairbrush - and went to one knee before her to look her in the face. "What's the matter, honey?" he asked. "Did Frank frighten you?"

"Frighten _her?" _Frank yelped once more. "How come everyone's so concerned about _her? I'm _the one who's bleeding!"

Artie came to his feet and drew the children into the Blue Room, shutting the door behind them. "I'll need to see about his wound shortly, you know," he said as he quickly checked Mrs Anders, who was mercifully sleeping through the row. "All right, she's fine. So what happened, Rose? Did Frank do something?"

She nodded vigorously and went into a flurry of gestures, pointing at the door, her mother, and herself. Artie tried to make some sense out of all the hand signs, but finally he had to give up. He glanced at Jamie and Liliana. "Did you two get that?"

"Some," said Jamie.

"I assume he showed up and tried to push his way inside this room. Is that it?" said Liliana, looking at her younger sister. When Rose bobbed her head emphatically, Liliana added, "So you started throwing things at him?"

She nodded even more decisively and shot a furious look at the closed door.

"All right," said Artie. "You three stay here and watch over your mother. I need to see how badly he's bleeding and patch him up, maybe send for the doctor. Rose Petal?"

She tipped her chin up, her eyes still flashing fire.

"I left you here to watch over your mother, and that's what you did. If Frank was trying to barge in without permission, he didn't have any business acting like that, and you had every right to object." He saw a small smile touch the corners of her mouth. "Now on the other hand, I'd rather you didn't just clobber him, you know! But I guess if you couldn't holler for help…"

Her eyes narrowed a bit, and if she was thinking over what Artie had just said, he hoped she would come to the conclusion he was hinting at. He laid his hand on her shoulder briefly. "All right," he added. "I'll be back shortly." And leaving the children with their mother, he stepped back out into the hall.

…

The trail led Jim on northwards, twisting and turning now and again. After a bit he reined up and sniffed the air, then loosened the revolver in its holster at his side before signaling Blackjack to move on.

Around the next bend, as Jim had expected, was a small campfire. A coffeepot was balanced above the fire, and sitting on a log with his arms resting on his knees and a tin cup cradled between his hands was a white-bearded old man. Beyond him, placidly cropping at some undergrowth, was a chestnut gelding.

"Afternoon," said Jim, reining up once more. He smiled at the old man, but his eyes were busy looking all around.

"Hey, afternoon, sonny!" the old man responded. "Care for some brew?" He waved a hand at the coffeepot.

"Thank you." Slowly, still keeping an eye out in all directions, Jim dismounted and wrapped Blackjack's reins on a nearby tree. The old man dumped out the coffee he'd been drinking and refilled the tin cup from the pot, then held it out to Jim, who nodded cordially as he took the cup. He sat down opposite the old man and lifted the cup as if to drink, then commented, "Bit early in the day to make camp."

"Yeah, mebbe," the old man agreed. "Got feelin' tired, though, so I figured here's as good a spot to stop as any."

"Nice horse," Jim added, nodding toward the gelding.

"Hmm? Oh yeah, her! That's, uh, that's Sadie. Had her for years. Good horse, yep. Mighty fine horse."

Her? Jim took another glance at the old man's horse. No, he hadn't been mistaken. Gelding - definitely a gelding.

"You all by yourself here then?" Jim asked. He still hadn't touched the coffee.

"Mm-hmm. Yep. That's right, sonny. All by my lonesome, yep. Uh-huh."

Jim's eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch. "And have you seen anyone today?"

"Oh, sure!" The old man broke into a broad grin before poking a gnarled finger in Jim's direction. "I seen _you!"_

Jim smiled slightly at the worn old joke. "I meant besides me."

The old man gave a shrug, then glanced around furtively. "Hey, mister, can you keep a secret?"

Maybe they were getting somewhere now. "Yes," said Jim.

The old man looked around once more, then slipped a hand into a pocket and pulled out a big red bandanna. He unfolded the cloth, then thrust it toward Jim. "What'd'ya think of this, eh, sonny? Ain't she a beauty?"

There was a nugget nestled in the cloth, bright and shiny and golden. Jim took it and inspected it closely for a moment, then said, "Where'd you find it?" as he handed it back.

"Ha! Now that I ain't tellin' no one, not till I get up to Dallas and lay claim on the spot, no sirree! Found it this morning, right after that hard rain quit, jes' layin' there on the ground, pretty as you please." He wrapped up the nugget again and stowed it in his pocket. "Been on the road all day, headin' up to Dallas."

Jim met the old man's eyes steadily. "To claim the land where you found fool's gold?"

"F… fool's gold? What? What're you talkin' about? This is _gold_, sonny! Real gold!"

Jim shook his head. "I'm sorry, old timer. It's only fool's gold. Real gold is soft, malleable. What you have there is brittle. It's not the real thing. However," he added as he set down the still-full cup of coffee and stood to his feet, "there might be a chemical manufacturer that would have some interest in it, since it can be used to make oil of vitriol. But I'd hate for you to make the long trip up to Dallas thinking that's real gold when it's not."

With a groan, the old man pulled out the nugget again and stared at it. "You… you sure 'bout that, sonny?"

"I'm afraid so, yes." Jim looked around again. "And you're sure you haven't seen anyone except me on the road today?"

"Hmm? Yeah, yeah, I'm sure," the old man said glumly. He picked up the tin cup and slugged down the coffee all in one gulp, looking for all the world as if he wished it were something stronger - _far _stronger.

"Well, good day then," said Jim. He mounted up again and touched the brim of his hat to the much less cheerful old timer, then turned Blackjack and rode on up the trail.

…

"All right," said Artie. "Let's have a look at that head of yours, Frank." He lifted the bandanna away, and a fresh trickle ran down the deputy's forehead.

"I'm still bleeding!" the young fellow howled.

"And likely will be for a while yet," Artie replied. He pressed the cloth over the gash again. "Scalp wounds tend to bleed a lot, even when they're hardly anything. Now here, hold this down firmly and come on." He caught Frank's arm and steered him for the stairs. "You too, Hargill."

"What? What you want me for?" the manager protested.

"I might need some help," said Artie, not wanting to give voice to his real reason, that he didn't want to leave either of these two upstairs near the children or the injured woman. _Someone _was responsible for Mrs Anders' wound, and neither Frank nor Hargill was exactly accounted for at the time of the gunshot.

As they reached the bottom of the stairs, Artie called out, "Mrs Mills!"

Hargill flinched. "And what do you want _her _for?"

"Just help me find her," Artie replied crossly. Still hauling the deputy along by the arm, he looked into the front hall and the parlor, then along the back hall past the office and into…

Aha! "Mrs Mills, here you are!"

She turned from washing the dishes at the kitchen sink to grouse, "Oh, what is it now, Mr G… Frank! What are you doing here? And, oh my! What happened to you?" She rushed to her son's side and eased him into a chair. She lifted the bandanna away and exclaimed, "Oh, you're bleeding!"

"Yes, he is," Artie said. Smoothly taking the cloth from Mrs Mills, he pressed it against the wound again and shoved Frank's hand atop it. "Hold that. Now, Mrs Mills, I know you hate for blood stains to ruin Mrs Anders' things, and there's a bit of Frank's blood on the walls and carpet upstairs, just outside the Blue Room. If you could attend to that?"

"But… but what happened to Frank?"

"Nothing but a flesh wound; he'll be fine," Artie said soothingly, even as Frank exploded with, "It was that crazy Rose, Ma! She's nuts! She was throwing things at me left and right and…!"

Suddenly Artie's hand was over the young fellow's mouth. "Blood stains, Mrs Mills," he reminded, "rapidly drying upstairs even as we speak. I'll see to Frank while you see to that, hmm?"

She scowled darkly, her lips a thin line, then whipped away to fill a basin with water, snatch up a few wash rags, and march from the kitchen.

"Now," Artie said, as he bustled around to gather another basin of water and more rags before seating himself opposite Frank, "what happened up there? And for that matter, what are you doing here anyway? I thought you were out there with your father, helping the folks upstream to clear away after the storm."

Hargill, feeling forgotten, folded his arms and leaned against the wall just outside the pantry.

Frank gaped at Artie for a second. "I… I… yeah, yeah, I was helping. And… and then I thought I should come back here to, uh, to Las Flores, y'know, to, uh… to… to check on Aunt Iris!" He beamed. "I knew Liliana had to be mighty cut up about all this, Mr Gordon, so I figured I'd come back and see how my aunt's doing, and all that."

Artie eyed the young fellow dubiously. "Right," he said at last. "So you came back here, let yourself into the house without anyone knowing, and went upstairs?"

Frank nodded brightly. "Yes sir."

"I see. And then what?" As he spoke, Artie took note that, behind the young fellow's back, Hargill was slowly easing his way into the larder. Why the manager should be doing that, Artie hadn't a clue; once he was done with Frank here, he'd just have to make it his business to find out what Hargill was up to.

"Then what?" Frank repeated. A frown was creasing his face.

"Not a hard question, Frank," Artie responded as Hargill disappeared from view entirely. "You went upstairs, and what did you do next?"

"I…" The deputy lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "I looked around. Aunt Iris wasn't in Liliana's room, and not in her own room neither. And when I didn't find her in Jamie's room or Rose's, I just started going up and down the hall, checking every room. Well, then when I got to the Blue Room…"

"The room Mr West and myself have been using," Artie put in.

"Oh, well, yes, I, uh, I knew that, yes. When I got to that room, I looked inside and was surprised to see Aunt Iris there, and Rose too." With sudden vehemence he added, "But I tell you, Mr Gordon, that Rose - there's something wrong with her! All I did was stick my head in at the door, and she jumped up out of her chair so hard, she knocked the chair plumb over! And then she ran at me and shoved me right out of the room! Next thing I knew, she was throwing everything but the kitchen sink at me - and if she'd've had one of them within arm's reach upstairs, ain't no doubt but she'd've chucked it at me to boot! She's crazy, I'm telling you, crazy!"

A small movement caught Artie's eye: Hargill again. Without actually looking straight at him, Artie watched as the manager slipped back out of the pantry, his hands full with a round of cheese, a string of sausages, and a few other items Artie couldn't discern very well. As for Hargill, he kept his eyes on Frank and the apparently oblivious Artie sitting there at the table the whole time he went sidling for the door into the back hallway until at last he reached the door and was gone.

Strange, thought Artie. He scowled as he turned his attention back to the young fellow opposite him. "You don't have a very high opinion of Rose, now do you?"

"Aw, c'mon!" Frank argued back. "You've seen her! Grunts like a wild animal, all the time running off and hiding, and then there's the way she was acting just now! She shouldn't be allowed around normal people. She oughta be locked up!"

Artie took the bandanna off Frank's wound again; the bleeding had nearly stopped now. "Locked up," Artie repeated as he dampened a rag, wrung it out, and began washing the blood off the young man's forehead.

"Ow!" Frank yelped and jerked back from Artie's hand. "That hurts!"

"Sit still," Artie said sternly. "Of course it hurts! Haven't you ever been wounded before?"

"Ah… yeah, yeah, 'course I have. Plenty of times. It's just… ow!" He flinched back from Artie's hand again.

"Stop it!" Artie ordered. "Do you want me to take care of your head for you or not?"

"Well, yeah…"

"Then sit still and be quiet!"

Slowly the young man nodded and allowed himself to be cleaned up. Truth be told, Artie wasn't being as gentle with the fellow as he might have. Frank's attitude toward Rose, like that of so many folks he'd met around here, gave Artie a sour taste in the back of his mouth. "So you think Rose should be locked up, that she's crazy, even dangerous, hmm?"

"Well, you saw her!"

"What I saw was a little girl doing her best to defend her injured mother against an intruder, Frank."

"In… intruder! I've known Rose all her life!"

"And I've known her two days. And I would never - ever! - call that sweet little girl crazy, nor dangerous, nor cavalierly advise that she be locked up!"

"But she's…!"

"She's a lot more than you see in her!" Artie interrupted, his voice overriding Frank's. "Did you even knock before you barged into the bedroom?" he asked. "You didn't, did you? You just shoved your way in and gave her a good scare, and she got mad - angry, that is - and shoved you back out again. And you deserved it."

"Deserved!" Frank's mouth was hanging open.

Artie finished washing the wound, patted it dry, then folded a clean cloth and pressed it over the spot. "Hold this." As Frank kept the cloth in place on his forehead, Artie rummaged around the kitchen until he found something he could tear into long strips and wind around Frank's head.

The deputy sat in sullen silence until at last Artie was done. "Now," he told the young fellow, "if you'll try to avoid getting it started bleeding again, you might get away with only a small scar there."

"Scar! I'm gonna have a scar?" Frank cussed softly under his breath. "You mean she done made me ugly?"

"Ugly is as ugly does," Artie muttered. He shoved away from the table - and from the mouthy young dunderhead sitting at it as well - and began putting his first-aid supplies away.

"I don't wanna be ugly!" Frank complained. "What if Liliana don't want anything to do with me no more?"

Artie shot him a look. Liliana had already made it beyond plain that she wanted nothing to do with Frank! With a snort, Artie replied, "Oh, I'm sure if that's the case, she'll tell you right to your face," knowing that's precisely what he had overheard earlier.

"But that's why I came back here. I wanted…" Abruptly Frank slapped a hand over his mouth.

Artie paused as he emptied the basin into the sink. Aha! So all that noble talk about coming back to check on his aunt was a bunch of blarney. Yeah, Artie wasn't a bit surprised. But what, he wondered, had Frank been about to say? Artie smiled as he upended the basin in the drain rack, for he knew plenty of ways to loosen a man's tongue. He dried his hands, then turned to Frank and said jovially, "Well! Now that all of that is out of the way, what would you say to a little painkiller, hmm?"

"Pain, uh, painkiller?"

"Mm-hmm!" Artie responded brightly. "I believe there might be a bit of the whiskey left from last night. Classic painkiller, whiskey! Come along! Let us repair to the front hall, shall we?" He wrapped an arm around Frank's shoulders and led him from the kitchen.

Moments later, after settling Frank into an overstuffed chair in the front hall, Artie found the whiskey and a pair of glasses. "Nothing like a bit of whiskey to make a man forget all his cares, right?" he said as he poured some of the amber liquid into each glass. He handed one glass over to Frank, then took a seat opposite him and lifted the other.

"Here's mud in your eye!" he said with a grin and they both tossed off the drinks.

…

"Ok," said the old man, "he's gone now. You gonna pay me now and take your horse back?" He held out his hand and squinted up at the guest who had just stepped into the camp.

The stranger pulled out something, but it was not the pay the old man was looking forward to.

"Hey!" said the old man. "Hey, what're you doin'? I, I jes' want the money you promised me, y-y'know, for sending that fellow away for you! There's no call to… No, no, don't! C'mon, _please_, mister, don't pull that tri…!"

_BLAM!_

**End of Act Two**


	14. Act Three, Part One

**Act Three, Part One**

Mrs Mills was in a foul mood as she finished scrubbing the blood stains from wall and carpet. Not only was it a messy job and one that had to be done quickly before the blood could dry, but it was her own son's blood, and shed by that little hellion Rose!

And to top it off, she could hear whispering coming from the Blue Room, Liliana's and Jamie's voices. No doubt their wildcat of a sister was in there too. Did the obnoxious Mr Gordon know they were in his room, possibly messing with his things? "Hmph!" she grumbled to herself. "On the other hand, serves him right, the interfering busybody!"

She opened a window at the end of the hall and flung the dirty water out into the yard, then piled the used rags into the basin and bustled back downstairs.

And as she reached the foot of the stairs, she was astounded to hear laughter coming from the front hall. Why, there was Mr Gordon in there, swilling booze well before nightfall! And with him, his voice loud and giddy, was her own Frank!

"An' he agreed! Can you be… believe it, Mizzer Gordon? He agreed t' th', th' deal I pro… propososodeded…" He stopped and frowned. "That… that don't sound right," he muttered.

Sounding tipsy as well, Gordon chuckled. "So thass why ol' Gabe went off back, uh, back t' town in th' middle o' th' night, in th' middle o' th' storm, eh? Gave y' his word t' back off for three days?"

"Yep! An' he is _so sure _she'll still pick him! Even with givin' me three days t' work on 'er." He snickered, then hiccuped. "What a gold-plated knucklehead, right?"

"Aw, well, there's lotsa knuckleheads in this ol' world."

"Ain't that the truth!" Frank howled with laughter, and Gordon joined in. Frank leaned forward then and held out his glass. "Hey, pour us another, wouldya? Thass a mighty fine painkiller, Mizzer Gordon!"

"Only th' very best!" Gordon aimed the bottle at the deputy's glass. But before he could pour, a horrified screech of "Frank!" rang through the room.

Both men turned and blinked at the angry woman glaring at them. "Oops!" said Frank and giggled.

"Af, af, affernoon, Miz Mills," said Artie. "Care for a little whiskey?" He waved the bottle in her general direction.

"Whiskey! At this time of day? What do you think you're doing?" She bore down on Mr Gordon and snatched the bottle from his hand to return it to its proper place. Then she stormed back and took both glasses away as well. "And you, Frank! Drinking! Of all things!"

"Why, it's, it's painkiller, Ma! 'Cause o' m' head." He gestured at his big bandage. He broke out laughing, adding, "Bes' painkiller I ever had!"

"Uh-huh," put in Gordon, nodding like an idiot. "Purely medici… medicin… medicinicinal." He blinked and gave her what was probably supposed to be a sober look. It wasn't, not by a long shot.

"Oh!" Mrs Mills exclaimed. She hauled Frank to his unsteady feet. "You are going home this instant!" she announced.

"Home!" He tried to protest, but she grabbed him by an ear and marched him from the room. "Ow! Ma!" he howled.

"He'll never stay on 'is horse," Artie called, following them to the kitchen. He swayed and leaned against the doorjamb for support. "He's schnockered. Plastered. Pickled." Each P sent a small explosion of spittle raining into the kitchen. Lifting a finger, Artie said, "In fac', I predict he'll fall splat off 'is horse before… uh, before he can even leave, leave th' yard out there!"

Mrs Mills snorted. Much as she hated to admit it, the sot was probably right. "Then I'll take him home myself. I'll hitch the chestnut up to the carriage and make sure he arrives home safely. And you!" She rounded on Mr Gordon and shook a finger in his face. "You should be ashamed of yourself, getting the boy drunk like this! And you should go at once and sleep this off!"

"Your wish is my command, dear lady," he replied and attempted a low bow to her, a bow that nearly overbalanced him.

"Hmph!" She caught Frank by the ear again and steered him out the kitchen door into the yard. At the stable door she looked back toward the house to find that Mr Gordon had made it to the back door himself and was now waving goodbye.

"Oh!" she snorted again. "You may think you're a charming drunk, Mr Gordon, but I can assure you, you are not! And," she added as she got the stable door open and shoved Frank inside, "it may not be the most Christian sentiment I've ever had, but I do hope that you wake up with the worst headache of your life!" She slammed the door behind her.

Artie slipped back inside the kitchen and chuckled. "Oh, that's not too likely," he murmured, instantly sober again. Quietly he took the back hallway to the office and listened briefly at the door. He could hear Hargill within, muttering. Good. The manager was out of the way for the nonce, as were the Mills, both mother and son. And that was exactly what he wanted.

Artie hurried up the stairs and rapped lightly on the door to the Blue Room. "All right, kids," he said when Liliana answered, "we've got a little job to do and who knows how much time to do it in. And Rose Petal, I apologize in advance, but we're going to have to let your brother in on a little secret of yours."

…

Jim rode on up the wilderness path, finding no more prints of any kind. Evidently the horse he'd been following was the gelding, the so-called Sadie, the one at the old man's camp.

The old man. There was something about him, something shifty, less than aboveboard. Just the fact that he'd misidentified the horse he'd supposedly owned for years as a mare had been enough to raise Jim's suspicions. Now granted, the old timer was on his way up to Dallas with something he had thought to be extremely valuable, and that sort of excitement might well have been enough to, oh, scramble his recollections some. But there was something else to it, Jim thought. Something fishy…

_BLAM!_

Jim reined up in a heartbeat. That had come from behind him, from the direction of the old man's camp! Instantly Jim wheeled his horse and spurred the stallion into a gallop.

He arrived back at the camp and flung himself from the saddle to kneel at the side of the old man where he lay in a crumpled heap beside his campfire. "Who did this to you?" Jim asked urgently.

The old man blinked up at him and wheezed, "You… you were right, sonny. Fool's gold. Yeah, an' me the fool carryin' it."

"Who shot you?" said Jim, ignored the man's ramblings. "Did you see him? What's his name?"

"Didn't… didn't gimme no name," said the old man. "Jes'… jes' his callin' card." And he lifted a hand to touch the dark spreading stain on his chest.

"Who did this?" Jim asked once more. But the old man only stared at the blood on his hand.

Then collapsed.

Jim rocked back onto his heels, frowning. Someone shot the old man, but why? To rob him of the nugget? But no, there it was on the ground a short distance away, along with the bandanna.

Then why? The horse was gone; had someone taken the gelding then and shot the old man to do so? Or had…

Blackjack bugled at that moment, and Jim rolled instantly, just as…

_BLAM! _A bullet slammed into the ground where Jim had been kneeling half a second before.

Jim bounded to his feet with his revolver in hand and dove for shelter behind the log the old man had used for a chair. Another bullet splintered the wood at the top of the log. Jim popped his head up just long enough to take a shot of his own, then ducked down again.

A man was out there, mounted on the gelding. A bandanna was tied around the lower half of the man's face, concealing his identity. He shot once more and splintered the log yet again.

Jim fired back, then dropped down behind the log again. He frowned and shook his head. This was no good! He had no more concealment than this log while his opponent was mounted; Jim needed a way to shift the odds of the fight into his favor. So he reached into a pocket and scooped out a little item Artie had cooked up for him. It looked like a simple rubber ball, and for the most part, that's what it was. However, when someone twisted the two halves of the ball in different directions, as Jim was doing just then…

He popped up from behind the log once more and hurled the ball with all his might, then hit the deck again, counting.

One… two… thr…

_FOOM!_

Dirt and debris blasted into the air and rained down in all directions. Both gunman and horse fell to the ground together. The man leapt up again and scampered a few feet away from his horse.

And grabbed Jim's.

He jammed his revolver into its holster and vaulted into the saddle, then wheeled the horse and set off up the trail. Jim charged out of hiding and ran to the fallen horse. He hadn't intended to harm the animal! But just as he reached it, the gelding snorted and shook his head thoroughly, then surged to his feet. Jim spoke soothingly to the gelding, patting the side of its neck, walking it a few paces.

The horse had no limp nor any other apparent harm. Good. Now for the gunman. Jim licked his lips, then cut loose with a shrill whistle.

Several yards up the trail, out of sight beyond a bend or two, there was a sudden commotion that included plenty of hoarse cussing, a loud thud, and Blackjack's bugle of triumph. Moments later the stallion came dancing back down the trail, riderless.

Jim grinned and caught his horse's reins, then mounted up. "Let's go see where you left him," he said.

But while the mark where the gunman had measured his length in the dust was plain to see, where he had gone from there wasn't. Jim shoved his hat to the back of his head and peered at the ground, then at the underbrush on either side of the trail.

The gunman had vanished.


	15. Act Three, Part Two

**Act Three, Part Two**

Well, now that he and the kids had taken care of that little task, thought Artie, he should go look into whatever Sidney Hargill was up to, filching food from the larder. He took the stairs trippingly as always, and was about to head into the back hall to lurk round the office door when another door slammed open - the front one - and someone entered, his voice crowding in ahead of him:

"Frank! Franklin Jefferson Mills, where the blazes are you?"

"Oh, good afternoon, Sheriff," said Artie cordially. "Looking for someone?" And he abandoned the job of spying on Hargill for the task of smoothing the waters with Sheriff Mills.

…

"So you're telling me," said Len Mills, "that the reason I haven't been able to find my son upriver for the past few hours is that he came over here with the aim in mind of impressing Liliana with how thoughty he is, him wanting to hover over Iris?"

"Mm. That's it in a nutshell, yes."

Mills shook his head. "First Gabe up and disappears so that I don't get a lick of work out of him all day…!"

"Well, he _is _supposed to tending to your office in town," put in Artie.

"All right," said the sheriff grudgingly, "I'll grant 'im that. But now I lose Frank for most of the day as well, and all over a girl!" He shook his head. "Those two made that deal, you say, to give 'er three days to pick Frank? Well, I ain't giving 'em another three minutes at it! Work is work, and it comes before courting!" He jammed his hat onto his head and strode for the door, then paused with his hand on the knob. "So where's Frank right now?" he added.

Ah. More water-smoothing required. Choosing his words even more carefully now than he had with his prior explanation, Artie filled the sheriff in on how Frank came to have a wound on his forehead, and subsequently had come to be filled to the brim with, er, painkiller…

…

And so the afternoon passed. Gradually Las Flores began to fill up again with neighbors whose homes were not yet livable. Liliana came down to start supper, only to have her Aunt Bonita return and take over the kitchen. Jamie and a few others headed out to the corral to bring in the horses and settle them for the night. Rose Petal made herself scarce as usual.

And Artie never did get to spy on Hargill. Whatever the man had wanted the cheese and sausages for would have to remain a mystery for a while yet.

But now Artie had a new mystery on his hands. For supper came and went, and after that sundown, and Jim had still not arrived. Artie at length went out on the front porch where some of the men had gathered to enjoy the cool evening breeze.

Len Mills came and took a seat near him. "Well, we got a good bit of work done today," he commented. "With or without my deputies." And he glanced around at his son, who had put in a sheepish appearance at last. "River's still falling too. If the weather holds, we should be able to get most of these folks back in their own homes by the end of the week, I'd say."

"Good. Good," Artie replied. His eyes were fixed on the weed-choked lane up from the front gate. The empty lane.

Silence reigned for a bit, then the sheriff asked, "How's Iris doing?"

"Fine last I checked."

"Mm. Glad to hear it."

They fell silent again. Finally, Mills said, "Well, I'll leave you to it," and moved away to talk with the other men on the porch.

Artie watched the lane a bit longer, then slapped his hands on his knees and came to his feet. "No point in this," he murmured to himself. "Might as well find something to do to pass the time." He wandered inside and roamed through the ground floor rooms, exchanging pleasantries with various Prays and Maldonados and Hutchens, then headed out the kitchen door to prowl around the grounds for a bit.

He stood for a moment staring up at the Big and Little Dippers and the W of Cassiopeia before rambling off behind the stable to look out at the dark shafts of pines rising in all directions. "C'mon, Jim, where are you?" Artie muttered under his breath.

"Right here."

Artie whirled, but saw no one. "Where?"

Ah, and now he spotted a form emerging from under the trees, the silhouette of a man on foot leading a horse - no, two horses. "Jim?"

"Evening, Artie. Miss me?"

"Miss you! And just where have you been? And where'd you pick up that extra horse? And…?" Artie accepted the reins of the other horse and followed Jim into the stable where, as the two men brushed down the horses and settled them in stalls for the night, Jim related the events of his day.

"So after all that, I wound up heading into Tyler again to find a veterinarian to look over that poor fellow there."

"Ah. I wondered what had been keeping you! But this is our gunman's horse then, eh?" said Artie, eying the gelding critically. "Anything of interest in the saddlebags?"

"Camping equipment, bedding, that sort of thing. Extra ammo. No clues though. Nothing to point to who he is or why he shot Mrs Anders."

"No money?" Artie put a touch of wistfulness into that question, evoking a grin from Jim.

"No, no money. If he was paid to target Iris Anders, apparently he's carrying that fee on his person." Jim finished with Blackjack and came over to inspect the chestnut gelding. "Well, he seems to have fully recovered from that explosion I caused. I'm glad of it; I'd hate to have injured an innocent horse."

"Yeah, poor fellow here didn't get to choose his rider, did he?"

They completed their work and left for the house, blowing out the lantern just before closing up for the night. And so they neither saw nor heard how, a few minutes later, the occupants of the stable began to shift and nicker among themselves as a darker shape detached itself from the loft above the stalls and jumped down to the hay-strewn floor. The figure moved toward the door and eased it open an inch or two to peer outside for a bit. Closing the door again, he clambered back up into the loft where he curled up in a borrowed blanket and gnawed thoughtfully on his supper of sausages and cheese.

…

Out of the deep darkness of the moonless evening a pebble clattered against a ground-floor window. Then another pebble, and still another, until at last the window was flung open.

And from out in the night a voice hissed, "Look, I know you expected me to be long gone by now, but you gotta help me! I lost my horse, and I don't dare show my face anywhere to get me a new one, so I need…"

From within the house someone interrupted. The one outside listened for a bit, then replied, "Yeah, yeah, but one of them federal agents gave me some trouble, that's all! I knew that'd be coming, so I set up a trap for 'im, but he… Well, the upshot's that I'm in desperate need of a new horse, y'see, an'…"

Again he was interrupted.

"Wait. _What?" _hissed the shadowy stranger. "What's that you're saying? Naw, naw, that can't be true! I shot 'er!" He listened a bit longer, then snorted in anger. "I ain't never left a job half-done. You get me a horse ready, and I'll finish the job, sure as shooting. And I mean _my _shooting! I'll see to it, and you can rest assured you won't have that thorn in your side no more. I guarantee it!"

A few more whispered words, then the figure slipped away into the darkness again.


	16. Act Three, Part Three

**Act Three, Part Three**

"I made sure there was a bit of supper set aside for you," Artie told Jim as they ascended the stairs of Las Flores. "Right in here." He held the door of the Blue Room for his partner to enter.

And once inside, Jim turned a frown Artie's way. "Where's Mrs Anders?"

"Ah. Well, there's a short answer and a long answer…"

"Short first, long while I'm eating. She's all right, I hope."

"Oh yes, last I checked she was. I just decided she'd be better off in a place far fewer people know about, so the kids helped me move her…" and he pointed a finger toward the ceiling, mouthing the last two words, "…up there."

"Oh?" Jim curled an eyebrow upward and decided to forgo his supper for a bit longer while he headed upstairs to check on Mrs Anders for himself.

…

"I'm still annoyed, you know," a voice was saying as the two agents closed the painting behind them. "How come both of you knew about the attic and I didn't?"

"As I understood it, Jamie," Artie answered as he and Jim mounted the attic stairs, "Rose Petal wanted something of a secret clubhouse. Girls only."

Jamie snorted as Artie came over and ruffled his hair. Jim crossed into the corner where the mattress lay, and upon it he found Mrs Anders. She was quite pale but for the moment awake. A slew of pillows were propping up her head and torso so that Liliana, seated on the mattress as well, could spoon some broth into her mother's mouth. And alongside the mattress, curled up in a ratty old upholstered chair with its stuffing poking out through an abundance of holes, was Rose, looking on silently as usual.

"Good evening, Mrs Anders," said Jim. "How are you feeling?"

"Astonished," she replied.

"Oh?" said Artie, joining the group by the mattress. "How so?"

She gave a wan smile. "To find myself still among the living, I mean. I hardly expected that would be the case. But I'm still here, and my chicks around me." She reached out one hand toward Liliana and the other toward Rose, adding, "Jamie? Where are you, son?"

"Looking at Pa's books," he called back. "And I'm not a chick, Ma."

"My babies then," she replied, and gave a small laugh at the groan of exasperation that made plain what Jamie thought of the correction.

The laugh, though, turned into a cough. "Now, Mrs Anders, you mustn't exert yourself!" Artie admonished. "Let's get you flat again. Liliana, go ahead and take the broth away." And as the girl obeyed, Jim and Artie gently rolled Mrs Anders to one side so they could remove most of the pillows. "There. Is that better?"

"A bit." She laid back and drew in a large breath, then another.

"Not comfortable? How about this then?" Artie offered, fluffing and moving the pillows around until he found the best arrangement for the convalescent woman, talking soothingly to her all the while. Still smiling and making conversation, he set about checking her vital signs and her bandages.

Meanwhile, Jim took Jamie with him as he went around the attic making sure all the curtains on the dormer windows were well drawn.

"Why are we doing this?" the boy asked.

"We moved your mother here to give her a quieter place to recuperate, right?"

"Mm-hmm."

"So we don't want anyone outside to spot the telltale glimmer of light at the windows of this purportedly empty space, lest someone wonder what's up here and perhaps try to force his way in."

"Oh, like Frank!"

"Frank?"

"Yeah," said the kid, and as he helped Mr West check the curtains, he described what had happened with the deputy earlier, the incident that had prompted Uncle Artie - "Oh yeah. He told us to call him that." - to move Jamie's ma up here. He then told Mr West - "Tell you what: why don't you kids go ahead and call me Uncle Jim as well?" - about the odd visit of the lawyer and how Uncle Artie had made off with the will.

Jim grinned. "Yep. That's your Uncle Artie, all right. Now. You children shouldn't all be up here at the same time or people will begin to notice that they can't find any of you. So I want you and Rose to go on back downstairs and make sure plenty of your guests see you. Tell Liliana to do the same."

"But, but who's gonna stay up here with Ma?"

"I'll do that," said Jim. "Uncle Artie will go downstairs with you as well…"

"I will?"

"…and he'll stay with you children overnight. Artie, use the Blue Room. If anyone's trying to pull something…"

"Yeah, they'll have all heard about what happened to Frank by now. Anyone who has mischief in mind will likely avoid our room." Artie nodded and patted Mrs Anders' hand. "Good night, dear lady. Pleasant dreams. Rose Petal?"

The little girl considered for a moment before uncurling from the chair. She leaned down to kiss her mother's cheek, then glanced at both men before heading down the stairs.

"Let's go, Jamie. Good night, Jim."

"Night, Artie." For a moment Jim held Artie's eyes with his own, saying the unspoken, reminding each other to keep careful watch over the members of the Anders family throughout the night. Then Artie followed the children down to the hidden door to slip unnoticed into the upstairs hall, and after that to obey Jim's directions to make themselves well-noticed indeed.

And that being done, to bed.

…

The stars wheeled slowly overhead. Long after the last lamp went out inside Las Flores, a shadowy figure made its way into the stable for a while, then left again. The horses shifted in their stalls at the figure's passage, but the occupant of the loft, now sound asleep, neither heard nor saw a thing.


	17. Act Three, Part Four

**Act Three, Part Four**

Morning arrived, and Las Flores emptied. As soon as breakfast was over, all the various friends and neighbors who'd been staying at the house set out for their homesteads along the river to continue the job of clean-up. And the exodus, to the astonishment if not delight of some of the more permanent residents at Las Flores, included Mrs Mills, for she went along to commandeer a kitchen at one of the homesteads to get started right away on the midday meal for the workers.

This, of course, left the task of cleaning up after breakfast in the hands of some of those more permanent residents, but if that was the price to be paid to obtain Mrs Mills' absence, so be it.

And so the Anders children were able to more or less follow their usual daily routine for the first time since the evacuation. Liliana set about tackling the breakfast dishes, Jamie headed out to take care of the horses, and Rose slipped off into the back stall of the stable to visit with the mama cat and her kittens. As for the men, Hargill grumbled about in the kitchen pouring himself a cup of coffee before disappearing into his office, Jim went out to the stable to help Jamie, and Artie carried some breakfast up to Mrs Anders.

Jim and Jamie had barely begun their work with the horses when Rose came back into view again, scowling fiercely as she poked her head into one stall after another all along the row.

"What's the matter, Rose?" her brother asked.

She grabbed his hand and hauled him off to the last stall of all, then waved her hand at the hay strewn on the floor.

"So?" said the boy. "There's nothing here."

"Isn't that where the cats were?" asked Jim.

Jamie shrugged. "Yeah. But you know how cats are. Mama cats are always moving their babies around. She probably just decided it got too busy in here what with all the neighbors' horses, so she took her little ones somewhere quieter. More private. You know."

Still scowling, Rose poked around some more, searching all the stalls. When that proved fruitless, she left the stable entirely and stomped into the kitchen.

"Oh, there you are, Rose! Come help me with these dish… Rose! Rose, I'm talking to you!" called Liliana. But the younger girl only flung open the cellar door and rushed down the stairs.

"Rose, what are you doing?" Liliana persisted. She started to follow her sister down into the cellar, but the sound of knocking interrupted her. "Oh, there's someone at the door!" she murmured to herself as she dried off her hands, then hurried into the front hall to answer it.

A friendly, familiar face smiled down at her. "Good morning, Miss Anders. I dropped by to see how your mother is doing. May I come in?"

"Oh, certainly, Dr Jordan!" Liliana ushered him inside. "She's up here," she added as she led the way upstairs to the attic.

Artie heard the sound of the hidden door opening and left off checking the vital signs of the still-sleeping woman to see who had come in. "Oh, good morning!" he called once he recognized the man following Liliana. "I suppose you'd like to see Mrs Anders?"

"You moved her up here?" the doctor responded dubiously, eying the dusty old oddments crowding the attic.

"Yes, well, it's been very busy in the house lately." As Artie showed the doctor to his patient, Liliana excused herself and headed back to her work in the kitchen.

Dr Jordan sighed when he spotted the mattress lying flat on the floor. "Something wrong?" Artie asked.

That elicited a chuckle. "Oh, only the fact that my knees aren't what they used to be!" He set his black bag on the ratty stuffed chair, then lowered himself to kneel at Mrs Anders' side. "Any bleeding since I last saw her?"

Artie shook his head. "No, and I'm very glad about that. She's awakened a few times, but for the most part, she's been sleeping."

"Mm. What about fever?"

"None to speak of. And she's eaten some. In fact, I just brought up that breakfast for her, should she feel up to taking any." He nodded at the tray atop the small trunk.

"I see." The doctor continued his examination, humming snatches of Stephen Foster tunes to himself. "Oh," he added suddenly, "I do apologize for not showing up to check on her since I removed the bullet. I intended to come by, but I no sooner got back home that night when someone called me away to the town of Fisher. Do you know where that is?"

"Not particularly, no."

"Ah. Well, it's a few miles upriver from here. Many of the folks there had evacuated their homes because of the storm as well, and the parson had opened up the church to house six or seven families when, ah…"

The doctor paused, and Artie knew that whatever was coming next would not be good.

Jordan sighed. "Well, the fact is that the church roof caved in because of the storm. By the time I got there, the locals had pulled most everyone out from under the wreckage and taken them off by twos and threes to all the surrounding houses. Broken bones mostly, head injuries. And there was one fellow, I'm sad to say, who was killed outright - and another who lingered all day yesterday, only to succumb last night."

Dr Jordan sighed once more. "Well, you can probably imagine how busy I've been. This was the first opportunity I've had to get back out to Las Flores and see how Mrs Anders is doing. But," he added more brightly, "she does seem to be doing well and…"

The door slammed open and running feet came tearing up the stairway. Artie turned just in time to see Rose explode into the attic. Without slowing down, she dodged past him and flung herself onto the mattress at her mother's side.

"Ah!" Mrs Anders started awake. Pain creasing her face, she looked around at the doctor and Mr Gordon before lifting her uninjured arm to stroke her daughter's hair. "Why, Rosie!" she exclaimed. "What's wrong?"

The child only burrowed against her side, her body heaving with silent sobs.

"Rose Petal?" Artie went to one knee beside the girl. "Honey, what happened? Can you tell your ol' Uncle Artie?"

She shook her head, turning her face away.

"Is something wrong with Jamie? Or Liliana?" Mrs Anders asked, but the response was only the same, the shake of the head and silent tears.

"Look, I'll, um, I'll go have a look around and see if I can figure out what's spooked her," said Artie. And leaving the doctor to continue his examination, Artie hurried down the stairs and out into the hall.

…

Jim and Jamie entered the kitchen, the boy talking animatedly. "So when Ma saw that the rooster had knocked me down on my face, she ran up flapping her apron to scare him away, then picked me up and carried me to the house. And after I was safe inside, she grabbed up the broom and chased that rooster three times around the house before she figured out she wasn't going to catch him!"

"A rooster can run pretty fast," Jim commented.

"Oh, that story!" murmured Liliana, still washing dishes.

"Oh yeah, roosters run fast, but not when they're asleep," said Jamie. "See, Ma told Pa about what the rooster had done to me, so that night he went out and caught the rooster napping, neat as you please."

The boy paused dramatically, so Jim obliged with, "And?"

With a big grin, Jamie finished with, "And we had 'im for Sunday dinner!"

From the sink Liliana gave an exaggerated sigh.

A moment later, the door to the front hall opened and Artie came in. "Jim," he said. "I thought I heard you in here." His voice was strained, and he looked, well, odd.

"Something wrong?" asked Jim, instantly on the alert.

Artie gave a wan smile. "I just need to show you something. You kids, you stay here. Jamie, help your sister with the dishes, will you?" And he held the door for Jim, then closed it firmly behind them.

"What's wrong?" Jim asked softly as they headed up the stairs.

Swiftly Artie told him about Rose Petal's tearful arrival in the attic a few minutes earlier. "So I started looking around to see what could have upset her so. And…" He gestured at a closed door. "I found it."

"That's her bedroom," said Jim.

Artie nodded.

Wondering what could be in there, Jim turned the knob and let himself in.

At first, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. It was a child's room, with toys and books strewn haphazardly on the shelves, and the door to the wardrobe left slightly ajar. But then Jim noticed what was on the bed.

"She's been looking for those cats everywhere," he commented. "I'm surprised they're here in her bedroom. I doubt if her mother lets her bring them…" He stepped closer to the little group huddled in the middle of the bed, the three babies lined up in a row, their little heads nestled against the mama's tummy. And then he saw.

"Oh no," said Jim.

Artie joined him. "No wonder she went running to her mother. I can't believe anyone would do such a thing!" He waved a hand. "Whoever it was, he wanted her to find them!"

Jim lifted the orange kitten, cradling the little bit of fluff in his hands. "They're cold already, and stiff."

Artie nodded. "But no blood. I'd say whoever did this smothered them."

"And arranged them to look like they're simply nursing." Jim shook his head. "That takes a sick mind." He stood for a moment, anger lining his face. Hurting innocent animals - that was beneath contempt.

"I'll, uh, go get a burlap bag or something to bundle them in so we can bury them. I don't want the other kids to see this." He gave an angry snort. "I'd have given anything for Rose Petal to have not seen this!" He shook his head again, then left the room.

Jim started looking around the room, then went out and checked the hall as well. Whoever had done this, he must have been in the house this morning, and probably had needed to wait for the others to leave, lest the family who'd been using Rose's room should find the cats first.

And if he'd been in the house earlier, what was to say he wasn't still in the house now?

And the first thing Rose had done after finding the cats was run to her mother, betraying the spot where they had hidden Mrs Anders! Jim immediately sprinted for the attic door and charged up the stairs within, fearing the worst.


	18. Act Three, Part Five

**Act Three, Part Five**

What Jim found in the attic was a tranquil tableau of Mrs Anders propped up on pillows as Dr Jordan helped her take breakfast. Rose was still huddled at her mother's side, hidden behind her curtain of hair.

"Land's sakes, Mr West!" Mrs Anders cried out in alarm. "Is something wrong?"

"Yes, you're the second one in the past half hour to come charging in here like wild Indians were after you!" exclaimed the doctor. "What's the matter?"

Jim looked around the room. There didn't seem to be anyone else here. "Is everything all right?" he asked.

"Yes, I think so," Mrs Anders replied. "Well, something obviously upset Rosie very badly. Mr Gordon went to find out what."

"And no one else is here? Only the three of you?"

"Of course, Mr West," Dr Jordan responded. "Why? What's wrong?"

Jim's mouth set into a firm line. "Nothing - I hope. Are you done here, doctor?"

Jordan cast a puzzled look his way, then set aside the tray of breakfast and got to his feet. "I suppose," he said. Taking up his black bag, he crossed to the stairs and murmured to West, "Am I being thrown out?"

"No," said Jim. He nodded toward the stairs and accompanied the doctor down to the hidden door. "It's just this," he said quietly once they were out of Mrs Anders' earshot. "Somebody went after Mrs Anders the other night, and just now, somebody killed Rose's cats and left them on her bed for her to find."

Jordan's eyes widened in horror. "What kind of, of _monster _does a thing like that?"

"Well, finding them sent Rose running straight to her mother. I thought perhaps it was a ploy to get Rose to show him - whoever he is - where her mother can be found. But you're certain that no one came into the attic after Rose did, no one but me?"

"Yes. Yes, Mr West. I… Oh, what a terrible thing! I can't imagine!"

"All right. Well, thank you for coming by, Dr Jordan. Good day."

They shook hands, then Jim ushered the doctor out of the attic, checked the hall carefully after he closed up the hidden door, then went to find Artie.

…

They chose a spot on the far side of the stable, out of sight from the house, to bury Rose's pets. It didn't take long to dig a hole big enough, nor to fill it in again afterwards. As they returned the shovel to the stable, Artie said, "It hardly seems real! Why would someone do a thing like that?"

"I don't know. I thought perhaps it was a stratagem to trick Rose into betraying where we've hidden her mother, but no one went to the attic after she did. So what other reason might there be?"

Artie shook his head as they entered the kitchen.

"Oh, hello, Uncle Artie," called Liliana. She smiled at the men and added, "And I suppose I should call you Uncle Jim?" She took off her apron and hung it up on a hook. "Well, all the dishes are finally washed! And there's tea ready. Would you care for some?" She brought over a couple of cups and set them on the table.

"Thank you," said Jim, and Artie added, "Yes, some tea would be nice. Oh! And perhaps your mother would like some as well. For that matter, I never did bring down her breakfast tray, or even help her eat it. I should probably go up and…"

Jim stopped him with, "Dr Jordan fed her some breakfast."

And Liliana, pouring the tea, added, "And don't worry about taking some tea up for Ma. Gabe volunteered."

Both men turned and stared at her.

"Gabe?" exclaimed Artie.

"What's he doing here?" demanded Jim.

"Well… he's… he's always welcome here at Las Flores as far as I'm concerned. He dropped by just now, while the two of you were outside. He… he said something odd - I didn't understand it - about breaking a promise? But that he couldn't stay away, not while Ma is in such a bad way. In fact, he suggested I make the tea for her, and said he'd carry it up to… Why are you staring at me like that?"

"He knows how to get into the attic?"

"Why, yes! I told him just now. What…?"

Jim charged out of the room, heading for the stairs, while Artie hung back long enough to say, "Liliana, you _know _you weren't supposed to tell anyone where your mother is!"

"But… but surely you don't think Gabe would do anything to… _What was that?"_

For from somewhere above their heads, a loud _thud _shook the house. And as Liliana threw her hand over her mouth in confusion, Artie took off running for the stairs.

…

Artie took the stairs two at a time, then charged along the hallway and turned the corner. Down at the end of the hall he could see the painting standing wide open, and on the floor before it, Jim on one knee, leaning over someone.

Gabe.

Before Artie could reach them, Jim sprang to his feet. "See about him!" he threw over his shoulder, and then he raced through the open doorway and up the attic stairs.

Now Artie dropped to one knee at the deputy's side. "What happened?" he asked, noting that on the floor near Gabe was a tray, a small brown puddle, and a broken tea cup. Gabe was moaning and holding the back of his head, and when Artie pried the young fellow's hand away, he saw a lump on Gabe's head and a smear of blood in his palm.

"I… I don't know," the young fellow said. "I opened up the trick door there like Lil told me to, so I could take her Ma some tea and maybe make things right between us. And then something hit me." He touched the lump again and winced.

"Gabe!" Liliana appeared at the far end of the hallway and hurried their way.

A double crash of gunfire from within the attic echoed through the house.

"Here." Artie yanked out his handkerchief and flung it to Liliana. "Hold that over the wound and see if you can find something cold to bring down the swelling. I gotta help Jim!" And he too sprang to his feet and bolted for the attic.


	19. Act Three, Part Six

**Act Three, Part Six**

The scene Jim found this time when he charged into the attic could hardly be more different from the placid one earlier. Things were flying through the air, among them a plateful of eggs, a fork, a cup, a pillow. The target of the barrage was a man, big and burly, with a revolver in his hand, his other arm held up before his face as he tried to ward off the bombardment. "You little terror!" the man growled. "You looking to get shot too? I got paid to shoot _her_, and I don't never work for free - but in your case, I'm just about ready to make an exception!" And he started to level the gun at the feisty little girl.

"Leave her alone, Ramsey!" Jim ordered.

The gunman whirled, automatically firing the revolver toward the sound of Jim's voice. At the same second Jim fired as well, then dove across the attic for the corner in which were the woman and child. He yanked at the highboy, toppling it in between them and the gunman, then shoved the chair over, adding it to the impromptu barricade.

"Mercy, Mr West!" cried Mrs Anders from the mattress. "What…?"

"That's Devon Ramsey, the man who shot you. He seems to think he's going to finish the job," said Jim. "Come on." He pulled the woman into the least accessible corner of this little nook, then grabbed the mattress, folding it double as he pushed it against both highboy and chair. "Rose, stop that and get over there with your mother!"

For Rose, her face pinched with both fear and anger, was still throwing whatever came to hand at the gunman. Books assaulted the man now, and more pillows.

Ramsey fired back. Jim grabbed the kid and shoved her behind him, then opened fire as well.

And that's the scene Artie found. He crouched in the stairwell, cut off from his partner and the women, sizing up the situation. Unlike Jim, he hadn't been wearing his gun, and he was embarrassingly empty-handed of smoke bombs at the moment as well. But this was an attic; surely there was something he could jury-rig… Oh, right! He darted back to the door and grabbed something from near it, then slipped back into position, biding his time, waiting for an opportune moment.

The gunman was crouched behind the bookshelf now, firing again and again until his revolver clicked on empty chambers. He broke it open to reload.

"Give it up, Ramsey!" Jim called from behind the barricade.

"What, and let you arrest me? Ha! I ain't going back to no jail, and especially not to federal custody. I got a job to finish, and that's what I aim to do."

"What, to kill Mrs Anders here? Why?"

Ramsey chuckled. " 'Cause that's what I was paid to do!" He snapped the revolver closed again and drew a bead on the corner where his quarry lay hidden.

Something flew over his head, and he ducked. The something thudded against the dormer window to Ramsey's left, then fell to the floor and rolled towards him. It was a stub of candle. And in the half-second the candle held Ramsey's attention, a dark figure darted out of the stairwell and into the deep shadows behind some of the attic furniture.

Ramsey heard the sound of scurrying feet behind him. He spun and fired into the darkness beyond the gaping rectangle in the floor.

And at that moment from over the barricade Jim West came soaring, crashing into the gunman, knocking him to the floor, sending his gun spinning. The two men rolled across the floor, slamming into more furniture, slugging each other, pummeling each other.

"Rose!" hissed a voice. There was Uncle Artie on the other side of the barricade. He held his arms out to her. "Come on!"

She shook her head and pointed at her mother.

"I'll get your mother; I'll be right behind you. Come on and run for it!"

She hesitated a second, then made up her mind and jumped into his arms. He lifted her over the mattress and highboy to set her on her feet by his side. "Now run! Don't stop for anything. I'll get your mother and follow you."

She nodded and took off pelting across the attic, dodging out of the way as the two men rolled into her path. And in the nook behind her, Artie shoved the highboy and mattress aside, scooped up Mrs Anders, and took off carrying her to safety.

And the men kept on fighting. Ramsey saw his revolver lying on the floor and hammered Jim in the ribs, trying to break his grip so he could go for the gun, but Jim hung on tenaciously. Ramsey strove to clamp his hands around Jim's throat, and Jim retaliated by butting his forehead against Ramsey's, stunning the gunman momentarily. Jim took advantage of his opponent's instant of stupor to send them both rolling across the floor once again.

And then Jim let go. Ramsey went hurtling into a stack of boxes. The stack collapsed, burying the gunman. The boxes shifted as Ramsey made an effort to get up off the floor. Then he collapsed instead.

There was silence for a moment, then from the stairwell a voice called out, "Jim!"

Artie charged into the attic and looked around before holding down a hand to his partner. "Boxed him in, didya?" he quipped.

Jim grasped Artie's hand and allowed himself to be pulled upright. "You got the ladies out?" he asked.

Artie grinned a little at the designation of Rose as a lady. "Oh yes, they're safe. And Ramsey?"

Jim knelt and checked. "Out cold."

"That's good," said Artie as Jim scooped up the man's revolver and tucked it into his waistband. "So someone hired Ramsey there to kill Mrs Anders, but he didn't tell you why?"

"Right."

"But I don't understand, Jim. Who would want to kill her?"

"Well, until a few minutes ago, Gabe Owens seemed like a pretty good candidate."

"True - right up until the time that Ramsey sapped him over the noggin!" Artie rubbed at the back of his neck and added, "You don't, uh, suppose he'd clobber his own employer, do you?"

"To throw us off the trail? Maybe."

"Yeah, maybe. It's just… well, the way Gabe sounded just now, after he was hit. He didn't… I don't know. He came across as sincere, y'know?" Artie sighed. "Not that nobody's ever been able to pull the wool over my eyes!" he added ruefully as he drew aside the curtain of the dormer window nearest the bookshelf and looked out.

Jim gave a small snort. Artie was often a good judge of character, but on those occasions when his discernment failed, it usually failed spectacularly.

"Well, if it wasn't Gabe who hired him, who was it?"

Jim frowned. "That's a good question. If there's anyone around here who's been arousing my suspicions, it would be Frank Mills, and yet…" He shook his head.

"Yeah, exactly. What motive would he have? Mrs Anders was already on his side! Unless… oh, that's vicious, though."

"Unless what?"

Artie turned a disgusted look Jim's way. "Well, for one thing, of Liliana's two swains, the one who would look more likely to want her mother out of the way would be Gabe, right?"

"Right."

"So would Frank try to get rid of her, counting on everyone to suspect Gabe instead? And for that matter, when I was doctoring his head yesterday - and even more so when I was, ah, making sure he was feeling no pain - Frank kept trying to claim that he was here to check on his Aunt Iris, but then he would let it slip that he was more interested in seeing Liliana, and especially - now get this - especially, he wanted to comfort her in her time of grief."

"And you think he might have hired Ramsey to cause the grief in the first place?"

"Aw, Jim, I don't know what to think! Hargill's been sneaking around stealing food, and then there's Mrs Mills and her attitude toward Rose Petal. And on top of all that, there's the will!"

"Will?" Jim shot him an odd look.

"Oh. Did I, ah, forget to show you the will? The lawyer - Craven, wasn't it? - showed up yesterday to read Mrs Anders' will to her children, only to be heartily surprised to hear she wasn't dead. Anyway, according to the will, Las Flores and all its property goes to Jamie and Jamie alone! And yet…"

Jim nodded. "And yet Mrs Anders' stated reason for wanting Liliana to marry Frank is to keep the property in the family. Which wouldn't be necessary…"

"…if Liliana doesn't inherit anything of Las Flores in the first place. So what's going on? And who's behind thi… Jim!"

With a sudden clatter, Ramsey surged up from under the broken boxes and lunged at James West, trying to wrest from him the confiscated revolver. Jim twisted and gave the gunman a hard shove, tossing him toward the highboy and mattress where Mrs Anders had been laid up.

With an evil gleam in his eye, Ramsey sprang up and charged at Jim once more. Jim sidestepped nimbly, and Ramsey's momentum carried him right into the stairwell. From the sound of it, he hit most of the stairs all the way down.

And now, snarling, he bounded up from the stairwell and launched himself at Jim yet again.

And again Jim sidestepped. But this time as Ramsey sped past, the gunman's foot came down on a little cylindrical stub of wax on the floor.

The candle rolled. Ramsey flailed, stumbling, trying to regain his balance. And in doing so, he reeled toward Artie. Or rather, he reeled toward the thing Artie was standing beside.

"Wait, no!" Artie cried and tried to grab the man, but he was about half a second too late. His arms still windmilling, Ramsey crashed into the window, and through it as well. Splinters of glass flew everywhere as the gunman fell, his descent arrested abruptly by the balcony below.

"Ramsey!" cried Jim. He scrambled through the broken window and leapt down the few feet to land on the balcony at the gunman's side.

Artie leaned out the window and called down, "It wasn't that much of a drop. How is he?"

Jim didn't answer. There was a spreading pool of blood under the man, and a point of glass, bloodied and sharp as an arrowhead, protruding from his chest. That didn't look good.

"Ramsey," said Jim quickly, "tell us: who hired you? Who wanted Mrs Anders dead?"

"You… you really wa… wanna know?" the gunman gasped out, pink foam collecting on his lips.

"Of course we do. Who hired you?"

"Get… get…" Ramsey coughed and sputtered, gasping for air.

"Yes?" said Jim.

The gunman's eyes locked on his, and he smiled. "Gentlemen," said Devon Ramsey with his ultimate breath, "get used to disappointment."

**End of Act Three**


	20. Act Four, Part One

**Act Four, Part One**

"So much for Ramsey!" Artie sighed. He and Jim were on the front porch of Las Flores, watching the local undertaker drive away with the burden of the gunman's mortal remains. "What now?" he added, turning to Jim.

"Well," Jim replied, leading the way inside, "officially we're done here, as our job was to capture Ramsey, dead or alive."

"Mm," Artie nodded.

"Unofficially, we still have your promise to Mrs Anders to carry out. And until we get word that the telegraph lines are repaired, we've no way of notifying Washington anyway."

"True."

Jim started up the stairs. "And how is Mrs Anders? I don't think Ramsey was able to get to her, was he?"

"Oh, she was fine when I dropped her off in Liliana's bedroom. I picked that room because the door happened to be open when I came charging out of the attic with Mrs Anders and Rose. And inside, I found Liliana tending to the knot on Gabe's head where Ramsey had clobbered him." They reached the bedroom in question - the door was still open - and Artie knocked gently as he inquired, "May we come in?"

Sitting in a chair close to the door, a basin of water on the dressing table before him, was Gabe Owens pressing a damp cloth to the lump on his head. Across the room, Mrs Anders was lying on the bed, the upper half of her body propped up on pillows, her youngest child curled up against her side. And between them, just crossing from the bed back to the dressing table, was Liliana. She looked up at the two agents in the doorway and said, "Oh, certainly. Please do!"

"How's everyone doing?" Jim asked.

"I was just checking Ma, and none of her wounds are bleeding," Liliana assured them. "As for Gabe…"

The deputy grimaced. "I'm just sitting here feeling useless. I should have come to your aid against Ramsey!"

"No, you shouldn't have!" said Liliana. "You were already injured and had no business being in a shoot-out, especially since…"

"Lil, don't!"

"Don't what?" asked Artie.

She glanced toward the agents. "Oh, Gabe didn't want me mention it, but I'm concerned! He can't see straight; he sees two of everything!"

Jim and Artie exchanged a glance. "Someone should fetch Dr Jordan back here again."

"Jamie could go. He… Why, where is he?"

"The last we saw of him was back in the kitchen, right?"

"When we left him to help Liliana with the dishes."

"But he wasn't there when we went back to the kitchen…" Both men turned to look at Liliana.

"Oh, he helped for a while, but he was drying the dishes faster than I could wash them, so he told me to holler for him when I had more ready, and he took off."

Artie sighed. "I'll go find him then."

"No, wait! I know where he is now," said the young girl. "You see, right after you left Ma and Rosie with me to hurry back and help Uncle Jim in the attic, we heard a noise coming up the stairs. It was Jamie. He'd heard the gunfire and was going to go see."

"What? He didn't belong up there!"

"And we never saw him in the attic anyway."

Liliana smiled proudly. "That's because Gabe caught him and wouldn't let him go up. And then I…" And now her smile spread even broader. "…told him to get back down there in the kitchen and finish drying the dishes!"

…

Jim and Artie took their leave and were starting for the stairs to head for the kitchen themselves when a sharp rhythmic sound caught their attention. It was coming from the far end of the hallway, from the direction of the hidden entrance to the attic. They exchanged a glance, then went to have a look.

The painting was slightly ajar. Jim started to draw his gun, then hesitated. "Does that sound like hammering to you?" he whispered to Artie.

His partner nodded. Quietly the two ascended the stairs.

The attic had been transformed somewhat in their absence. Most of the evidence of the fight had been cleared away - the boxes that had landed on Ramsey were now stacked again, the highboy was in its proper place and the mattress as well, and the multitude of items with which Rose had pelted the gunman were also put where they belonged, with the plates sitting on their tray ready to be carried downstairs. And the sound of hammering was coming from the window, the broken window. Standing in front of it nailing up boards was Jamie Anders.

"Well," said Artie, "_you've _been a busy beaver!"

The boy whirled, then gave the men a friendly wave, his smile bristling with the nails he held in his mouth. He turned back to his work and hammered two more nails into place before he spat the rest into his hand. "Hey, Uncle Artie, Uncle Jim! I figured I'd better get this place fixed up again so we can move Ma back up here, right?"

"And it's much more interesting work," Jim responded, "than, say, drying the rest of the dishes for your sister, right?"

"Oh." The boy's face fell. And at the same moment, a new sound made its presence known: the gurgling of an empty belly.

"Oops!" Jamie threw a hand over his middle. "Guess I'm a little hungry, huh? Sorry!"

Artie consulted his watch. "Hey, would you look at that? It's noon already."

"Mm," said Jim. "Tell you what then, Jamie. We'll finish up here while you take that tray down and leave it in the kitchen. Then we need you to ride off and get the doctor so he can examine your ma and check on Gabe Owens' head."

"Doctor? They hurt bad?"

"No no. They'll be fine," Artie assured him.

"We just want the doctor to confirm that they're fine," said Jim.

"And you want me to go get 'im?" The kid's face had fallen again when Jim mentioned the doctor, but now his eyes shown with interest. "Sure, Uncle Jim! I'll get him back here in two shakes!" He handed over the hammer and nails, and grabbed up the tray to carry it downstairs.

"Good man," said Jim. "And while you're gone, Uncle Artie here will be rustling up some grub."

The boy paused halfway down the stairs. "Really? He will? 'Cause I ain't never seen a man cook before!" he exclaimed.

"Well then you'd better hurry up, because now's your chance." Jim shot the boy a wink and watched him scoot out of the attic. Jim then took up the hammer and some nails. "Hold the board steady for me, will you, Artie?"

"Now just wait a minute there, James my boy!" said Artie, folding his arms uncooperatively. "Why is it that _I _get volunteered to cook, hmm? I'm not even sure I have an appetite, not after what just happened on that balcony down there, you know!"

"_Someone _has to keep these kids fed, Artie, and Liliana already has her hands full. And on top of that, Mrs Mills isn't here, so that means the job falls to either you or me - and whose cooking would you rather the kids have to suffer, hmm?"

Artie blinked. "Oh. Well, since you put it _that _way…!"

Jim grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. "I knew you'd make the right choice." And as Artie supported the board, Jim nailed it firmly into place.


	21. Act Four, Part Two

**Act Four, Part Two**

"You know what, Jim?" Artie said a little later as they entered the kitchen. "Jamie brought up a good point a few minutes ago: will we really need to move Mrs Anders back into the attic, now that Devon Ramsey is dead?"

"We still don't know who hired him."

"True." Artie stepped into the pantry, then frowned. "All right, Jim, have I gone blind, or wasn't there a smoked ham hanging up in here earlier? I was going to cut some slices from it and fry 'em along with some cubed potatoes and turnips from the cellar, but…" He waved a hand at the rafters.

"No ham," Jim confirmed.

Artie gave a loud, exasperated sigh. "You know, I bet Hargill took it! I saw him sneak a bunch of food out of here yesterday while I was tending to Frank's forehead. And I mean a _lot _of food, not just a little snack! It's almost as if he's been…" Artie broke off, his eyes widening.

"…almost as if he's been feeding someone on the sly, you mean?"

"Yeah! You… Hey, Jim, you don't suppose Hargill's been making off with the food to feed Ramsey, do you?"

"Only if he hired Ramsey in the first place."

"Yeah." Both men fell silent, each one lost in his own ruminations for a while. Then, "Artie, do you still have that will? We never did look through it for clues."

"I did read part of it," said Artie, searching in his pockets. "I was about halfway through when… Oh! When _Hargill _showed up, looking for Mrs Mills - or should I say, looking for her absence. Curious thing, isn't it, how desperately he wanted that woman gone from Las Flores? Wait, here we go," he added a moment later as he pulled a folded sheet of paper from his pocket. "Oops. Sorry, no, not this after all." He tossed the paper onto the table and continued his search.

"What is it?" Jim asked. He took up the paper and unfolded it.

"That? Oh, Rose Petal gave it to me. She's got, oh, scores of 'em up in that small trunk in the attic, all of 'em showing the same scene."

"Her father's death," said Jim, gazing at the drawing.

"Right. I'd hazard that she's been drawing it over and over again ever since he died. And gotten better, too. Her style and attention to detail have certainly improved. Ah!" And he produced another folded paper. "Here's the will, Jim. Ah… Jim?"

For Jim was frowning at the drawing. "Artie, this picture. It's not just showing her father's death. It shows his _murder_."

"What? How do you get that?" Artie slid the will back into his pocket and bent over the table where Jim spread out the drawing.

"To begin with, how many people are in this picture?"

"Two: Mr Anders and whoever pulled the tree off him after they found the body. Hargill, I presume. See?" He pointed at a bushy scribble at the upright man's chin. "A bearded man."

"But how many people were there when the body was found, Artie? What did Jamie tell you?"

"Well, he, uh, he said Rose came running into the house, and they… yeah, they all followed her out into the woods. He wasn't specific about who the 'all' included - and we hadn't met Hargill yet - but he did say 'all.' "

"So if this is when they all found him, why aren't the others shown here? Where are her mother and sister and brother?"

Artie met Jim's eyes as he saw what Jim was getting at. "She didn't draw the others because they weren't there yet. That's what you're saying, isn't it? That this scene, the one she keeps drawing, is from _before _that, and shows what she saw that day that sent her running for the house!"

"Right. This isn't someone taking the tree _off _her father. What she saw - what she's drawn - was someone placing the tree _on _her father to make his death look like an accident. And then there's this." Jim tapped another part of the drawing, pointing at something just beyond the wide end of the tree. A fat cylindrical shape stood there, something with a ragged top.

"Oh sure, that's the stump," said Artie. "Funny thing, but she didn't always include that in her earlier efforts that she showed me."

"Yes, but look at what she's drawn propped up next to it."

Artie peered closer, then let out a whistle. "That's… that's the ax! She drew the ax propped against the stump, even though…"

"Right. Even though it couldn't possibly have been placed there if the tree in fact fell over on Anders while he was chopping it down."

"Yeah, he would have dropped the ax where he stood or even flung it from him as he tried to get out of the way! There's no way he would have calmly propped the ax against the stump, then gotten _into _the way of the falling tree." He paused, then added quietly, "Well… not unless he intended for the tree to fall on him." He cut his eyes at Jim.

"But if that had been his intention, he would never have brought his little girl along with him to witness it," Jim pointed out.

"I should hope not!" said Artie fervently. He looked at the drawing again. "So David Anders was murdered, and Rose Petal's been living with the memory of it ever since! We ought to show this to Sheriff Mills and explain its significance."

"I agree, but what sort of evidence is a child's drawing?"

"Yeah, you're right. We need Rose to identify the murderer."

"Which means she needs to talk." Jim gave it some thought for a few seconds. "Artie, you have your disguise kit with you, don't you?"

"Of course I do. What do you have in mind?"

"Suppose we present Rose with the sight of the man she saw kill her father arguing with someone else? Arguing, even threatening?"

Artie winced. "After what she just went through this morning, seeing Ramsey try to kill her ma? James!"

"I know. But if it snaps her out of her silence, it'll be good for her in the long run - _and _it will catch the man who killed her pa and hired Ramsey against her ma."

Slowly Artie nodded. "All right. Let's do it then. Where do you want to meet, in the parlor?"

"That'll do. In fifteen minutes?"

Artie nodded his agreement and set off for their room where he had left the disguise kit. Both the prospect of lunch and the will in his pocket were forgotten for the nonce.

…

A few minutes later a figure appeared at the door to Liliana's room. "Jamie's gone to fetch the doctor," Jim reported. "How are you feeling now?"

"A great deal better, thank you," said Mrs Anders. "It's so good to know that vicious man won't bother us anyone!" She paused, then added, "Oh dear, I suppose that's a bit, well, vicious of _me_. But knowing that my children are safe and that… that no one's going to shoot me again. That's worth a lot to me." She took Rose's hand and gripped it.

From his chair by the dressing table, Gabe said ruefully, "For my part, I'm feeling mighty foolish, let me tell you. If I'd've just been keeping an eye out for that gunman as I headed for the attic, I wouldn't have this knot on my head now, and I might've even been able to help you men stop him!"

"Oh but, Gabe!" cried Liliana, "Who would have expected that man to be here in the house with us? You just stop right now beating yourself up over it. Why, if he hadn't gone after you, he'd have picked me or Jamie or Rose! He was obviously waiting for _someone _to lead him to Ma; it just so happened that it turned out to be you!" She laid a hand on his shoulder.

Jim frowned. Why _had _Ramsey needed Gabe to show him where Mrs Anders was, when the gunman had plainly planted that morbid scene in Rose's room earlier to send her running for her ma? Something didn't add up here.

Still, Artie would be ready shortly. "Rose," said Jim, "Uncle Artie was telling me that you're quite a good artist. I'd like you to come downstairs and make a drawing for me. Would you do that?"

The girl regarded him for a long moment from behind her curtain of hair. Finally she turned and looked up at her mother.

Mrs Anders smiled. "Oh, that's fine, that's fine. You go ahead, Rosie. Make Mr West a lovely picture, not… not the sort of thing that…" She faltered, then pasted on a smile. "Oh, just make him a nice drawing, sweetheart."

Rose slid off the bed and followed James West down to the parlor.


	22. Act Four, Part Three

**Act Four, Part Three**

Artie hadn't arrived yet. Jim led the child to the desk where he found her some writing supplies. "Uncle Artie showed me some of your work," he said, pulling her drawing out and spreading it before her. "This is what happened a few years ago, isn't it?"

She stared at the drawing, then shrank back under her hair and pushed away from the desk, shaking her head.

Jim caught the arms of her chair before the girl could bolt. He knelt and looked up into her face. "You drew a very good picture," he said quietly. "Almost good enough to take to the sheriff for him to arrest the man who killed your pa." He tapped a finger on the man with the scribbled beard. "But we need a little more information for the sheriff first. Do you understand me, Rose?"

From between hunched shoulders she shook her head.

"Rose? Don't you want the man who murdered your father to be caught? Don't you want him to be punished? And you can help us make sure that happens. All we need is…"

The parlor door was flung open and in came… oh, this was one of Artie's best disguises ever. He'd captured the man's features perfectly, along with Hargill's perpetually disgruntled aspect. Hargill glared around the room, then demanded, "What's become of the da… danged hammer? It ain't in the toolbox in the stable like it oughta be!"

Curious opening, thought Jim, but he supposed Artie had needed some excuse for his version of Hargill to make an entrance, and the missing hammer was as good as any. "Jamie was boarding up a window in the attic," Jim replied as he came to his feet, "and then I sent him for the doctor. The hammer's in the attic still for him to put away properly once he gets back."

Hargill snorted with impatience. "I've told that boy and told 'im, time and again, don't touch the tools without me knowing about it, and don't never take 'em and not put 'em back! I hate having to search for tools, purely _hate _it!" He turned on his heel and stalked towards the door to leave.

But they hadn't argued, thought Jim. "Wait!" he said. "I want to show you something, Hargill."

"Yeah? What?" he growled.

"Here at the desk." Jim waved at the drawing still lying between the inkwell and the pen. Rose on the other hand, he noted, was no longer in the desk chair nor even in sight. She couldn't have left the room though…

A quick glance around showed Jim a sliver of the child's face peeping out from behind the sofa. She jumped slightly when she realized he'd spotted her, then vanished from view again.

Hargill stomped over. "What is it?" he said, frowning down at the desk.

"This. Rose drew it."

Hargill snorted. "Yeah? What do I care what that little lunatic draws?"

Jim's cheek twitched. He knew Hargill was in the habit of calling Rose names and that Artie would need to convey his best imitation of the manager, warts and all, but it still gave him a start to hear the insult, especially with the child right there in the room. "You should care," Jim responded. "Look what the picture shows."

Hargill leaned over it, scowling. "What'm I supposed to see here, huh? Coupla stick men, and a… a tree there, lying on… on…" He blanched and groped for the edge of the desk, finally all but falling into the chair. "What… what is this, West? What're you trying to pull here? That's… that's supposed to be Dave? What'd she draw there? What is that?" He stabbed the drawing with a finger, his face twisting in anger.

Well, give Artie an award for acting! "She drew what she saw the day her father died. She drew her pa on the ground, and a bearded man moving the tree on top of him, making it look like…"

"Bearded!" Hargill exclaimed. "Are you… Now you look here, West, are you trying to pin something on me just 'cause I wear a beard? You got any idea how many men round about Macon wear beards? And do you have any idea how much…" He glared up at the agent, his eyes blazing. "Dave Anders gave me a chance when no one else would, mister. He trusted me when most everyone else thought I wasn't worth spitting on. I'd no more raise a hand against Dave than I'd…" He cast about for a comparison. "…than I'd cut off my own arm! He was like a brother to me, and for you to try to blame me for it…" His eyes blazed up still more. "No, not you, that _brat_, claiming I did something I never would, that despicable little…!" And he launched into a tirade, calling her quite a few more choice epithets, words that caused Jim's ire to flare.

"Shut your mouth!" Jim hissed at him through clenched teeth, unable to believe that Artie would carry a disguise that far.

Suddenly the door sprang open and to everyone's amazement a second Sidney Hargill rushed in. "Jim!" he cried. "Hargill's innocent! He didn't do it!"


	23. Act Four, Part Four

**Act Four, Part Four**

As Artie had been in the Blue Room putting the finishing touches on his hasty disguise as Sidney Hargill, he'd heard Jim pass by leading little Rose down to the parlor. A glance at his pocket watch told Artie the fifteen minutes had nearly expired. He looked in the mirror again, schooling his features into the same surly mien Hargill usually wore, hunching his shoulders in a fine mimicry of the man's posture. He cleared his throat, then murmured a sentence or two as practice in capturing the manager's raspy croak.

Satisfied with his imitation, Artie cracked the door open an inch to see if the coast was clear - it was - then eased the door shut again before stalking down the stairs in Hargill's distinctive gait. He reached the parlor door and was about to storm through it when a sound caught his attention.

Tapping. Not exactly knocking, not that loud, but plainly coming from the front door. Artie frowned in that direction; yes, he could see a shadow across one of the pair of tall narrow windows that flanked the door.

What a time for a visitor! The tapping sounded again, a bit louder this time. Not loud enough for anyone else in the house to hear it, Artie was sure. On the other hand, he certainly didn't want to run the risk that Sidney Hargill might realize someone was at the door and come to answer it, only to find his own _doppelgänger _here in the hall! And so Artie, still in character, scowled his way to the door and snatched it open.

"Yes?" he snapped.

He found himself staring someone straight in the sternum. With a start, Artie jumped back and tipped his head up - a long way up! He started out with a view of a massive chest equipped with a pair of thick and sinewy arms, rising to a neck that was far too wide to be called a neck, and above that a broad face that was peering down at him with a look of great apprehension.

"Sid! Oh good, I was hoping you'd answer the door. I know I took a chance, but there ain't no one else around, is there?" The huge man leaned down to peer beyond Artie. "Whew! That's a relief! Anyway, we need to talk. C'mon!" Saying thus, the colossal apparition turned and headed off the porch, leading the way around the house toward the stable.

Well, this was surprising! Wondering what new thing Hargill might be embroiled in, Artie pulled the door shut behind himself and tramped after the giant, hoping Jim wouldn't be too upset when he didn't arrive on time.

Once they were both in the stable, the giant started talking again. He had a curious voice, one that didn't quite seem to fit with the rest of him, being both high and soft. "I know you told me not to come up to the house, Sid," he began, " 'cause I know you don't want anyone to spot me. But I ain't seen anyone go in or out of the house since those two government fellows stood on the porch to watch the undertaker drive off." He paused and gave "Sid" a sidelong look. "By the way, who was he taking away? I sure hope it wasn't the old lady! You been worrying something awful that maybe she'd die, 'cause that'd be the end of Las Flores and you'd be out of a job, and then there'd be no job for me neither, and, well… _Was _it the old lady?" He turned an anxious glance at his companion.

"No, no," rasped Artie, keeping up appearances. "Naw, it was that gunman, the one who shot the old lady. Wasn't her."

The giant's eyebrow ridge lifted. "You mean Ramsey?"

"Yeah," Artie replied, clamping his mouth shut before he could blurt out, "You know him?" Because if he was guessing correctly, the giant before him certainly did know Ramsey - and Hargill would know he knew, and wouldn't ask such a foolish question.

"Ramsey, dead!" the giant repeated, stunned. "But how? What happened to him?"

"Them two government fellows happened to him, that's what. He took a spill out a window trying to finish Miz Anders off!"

"Shew!" The giant shook his head and covered his face with one beefy hand. "That's just… Well, I don't know what to think!" Then he peered down through the space between two fingers and said, "Wait. Yes, I do. I think with Ramsey dead, there's a horse in this stable that don't have an owner no more."

"What?"

"Oh yeah, last night I was up in the loft hiding, just like you told me to, when them two government men showed up with a couple of horses. That chestnut gelding over there was one of 'em, and I heard the men say it belonged to ol' Ramsey. But what with him being dead and all, I'd just as soon take that horse of his and clear out now."

"Clear out?" said Artie.

The giant lifted his hands in a placating gesture. "Now, don't be mad at me, Sid! I appreciate everything you done for me, I really do! I mean, here I show up in the middle of a raging storm and me on the lam to boot, and what do you do but give me a place to hide and three squares a day! It's just that… Well, you were right, Sid. That letter you sent me was a buncha years old, and I never shoulda showed up out of the blue all this time later expecting you to give me a job. I mean, look at this place! Maybe it was thriving when you wrote the letter, but you don't have any need for a drover like me, not anymore, not when you don't even have wagons and draft horses no more. So I'm just gonna take that gelding there and move on. I just… well, I came looking for you just now 'cause it seemed like all them folks had moved on, so maybe I didn't have to hole up in here in the loft no more. But now… Now I'd like to go. And I'm mighty grateful, Sid! And… well… Good-bye." He held out a hand.

Artie shook it. "Where you goin'?" he asked.

The giant shrugged. "Away. Somewhere that sheriff over there at Tyler won't find me. Umm."

"Umm?"

He grinned. "I don't suppose you got any more of that ham, do you? It was mighty good!"

"Sorry. That was the last."

"Ah. Well, I'll go on then and get outta your, uh, your hair." He glanced at the wispy wig on Artie's head.

"Well, seeing you're determined to go, I'll help you get ready then," Artie replied. He went and brought out the gelding, then helped the giant with the horse's tack. "Oh, and there's a canteen hanging up on the wall there. You'll want some water. Let me fetch it for you."

By the time Artie returned with the full canteen, the giant had led the horse out into the yard and was ready to mount up. Artie passed him the water, then went back into the stable. "Here, I found you a bag of oats too," he said as he emerged. "I'll just tie this on the back of the saddle… and… All right, there you go!"

The giant mounted up - Artie imagined he heard a creaking sound and saw the horse roll its eyes - and held out his hand once more. "Thanks for everything, Sid. You're a true friend! There's, uh, just one more thing, though."

"Yeah? What's that?" said Artie as his hand disappeared inside that enormous mitt.

Sheepishly, the big man asked, "A little cash?"

Artie paused, then nodded at length and pulled out his wallet to peel off a ten-spot.

The giant grinned toothily as he accepted the money. "Thanks, Sid! I'll repay you for this some day, you'll see. I won't forget all you've done for me!" And he reined the horse about and rode away.

"I won't forget either," Artie muttered as he watched the man leave. He stood a moment longer, thinking hard about everything the giant had said, then hurried into the house to find Jim and let him know that the man in the drawing couldn't have been Hargill.


	24. Act Four, Part Five

**Act Four, Part Five**

Rose popped up from behind the parlor sofa to stare in consternation at the two copies of the surly Mr Hargill. And one of the copies, the one who'd been in the parlor for a while now, glared at the other, rasping out a few choice phrases that ended with, "What the blazes is going on here!"

The other gave an apologetic grin and rubbed at the back of his neck. "Oh, nothing but a bit of jumping to a wrong conclusion." Turning to Jim, he said, "I just had a long talk with Burke Johnson, Jim, and from what he said, Hargill here had nothing to do with the attacks on either Mr or Mrs Anders."

"Burke!" Hargill blanched and fell back into his chair once more. "You… you talked to Burke?" Burying his head in his hands, he said, "You didn't arrest him, did you?"

"Not and stay in character, no," Artie replied. "Oh, and he's gone."

"Gone?" That word came from both Hargill and Jim.

"Yes, once he knew Ramsey was dead, he insisted on taking the man's horse and making himself scarce. He, ah, kept telling me how grateful he was for your hospitality, Hargill. Thinking I was you, of course."

"What's your connection with Burke Johnson?" Jim asked, folding his arms and standing over Hargill's chair.

Hargill shrugged, still stunned at recent events. "Old buddies. We worked at a logging camp up North during the War. Kept saying as how, once the South wasn't foreign territory no more, we'd find a place where nobody'd ever heard of snow and live there forevermore. And then I did. Came down here, found this job with a man who didn't care if I was a da…" He cut his eyes at the other him and amended it to, "darned Yankee. Wrote Burke bragging about my great new job. And until he showed up that night during the storm, I never heard another word from him. He was looking for work, and I'd've given him a job if there was enough work here to keep a flea hopping!"

"And you knew he was a fugitive," Artie stated.

"Well… yeah. Yeah, I did. Didn't care." And at the stern look Jim threw him, Hargill said, "Look, I've known ol' Burke there for a whole lotta years, mister, and he may look dangerous, but he ain't!"

"Not even drunk?" Jim challenged.

"No, not even drunk! People just… they just assume, him being as big as he is, that he's gonna start busting heads whenever he's in his cups. But that ain't how it is! He told me what happened over to Tyler. He stopped in the saloon to slake his thirst, had a coupla drinks, started feeling happy. An' alluva sudden this little bantam rooster sorta fellow started poking at him, riling him up. So Burke got up to get outta there, and as he was heading for the door, that bantam fellow whistled up some buddies and they all jumped him! And he just started shoving 'em off, still trying to get out the door and away from 'em. Next thing he knew, the deputies showed up and arrested _him_." He leaned closer, his eyes flashing. "Arrested _Burke_, but didn't do a G… a blamed thing to Bantam and his buddies! That ain't fair, I call it!"

Jim let out a long sigh through his nose and glanced at Artie, who nodded. "All right, Hargill. You can go; we believe you."

The manager stood up, a belligerent look on his face. "Well, ain't that considerate of you!" he snapped, then stalked from the parlor.

Jim turned to his partner. "And Johnson says Hargill's innocent?"

"Yes. He says Hargill's been worried about Mrs Anders, afraid that if, er…" He shot a glance at the child behind the sofa. "Well, that if anything, uh, _happened _to her, he'd be out of this job. Real altruistic of him, of course, but apparently he didn't wish her ill at all."

"Mm. But if Hargill's not the bearded man in Rose's drawing, who is?"

"I have no idea." Turning to the sofa, Artie added, "Rose Petal, I don't suppose you could give us some clue, could you?"

Still with a stunned look on her face, the girl slipped out from behind the furniture and edged closer to the sole remaining Hargill in the room. She peered up at him suspiciously for a long moment before she reached up, took hold of a few strands of his beard and yanked them out.

"Ow!" He clapped his hand to his chin. "Those are fake whiskers, Rose Petal, but they're still glued on pretty tight!"

Her mouth dropped open, and then she glared at him and smacked him on the arm.

"Yes, yes, you're right: I'm Uncle Artie under all this brush. Now listen. We thought the man in your drawing was Mr Hargill. We now see we were mistaken."

"So if that wasn't Hargill, Rose, who was it?" Jim added.

She looked back and forth between the two men, her hands fluttering first at her chin, apparently describing a beard, then at her waist, making a stout belly, trying earnestly to show them who she meant.

But all in vain. The two agents shook their heads. "I'm sorry, Rose Petal, we just not getting it. We're newcomers and don't know enough of the men around here to recognize who you mean."

"And as Hargill himself pointed out, there are plenty of bearded men in the Macon area. You could be describing any one of them."

She sighed and chewed her lip in frustration. A moment later, though, she perked up and hurried over to the desk, grabbed a piece of paper, dipped the pen into the ink, and set out scribbling on the sheet.

"Wonder what she's drawing this time?" Artie murmured to Jim.

"The culprit, I hope," Jim replied. "In the meantime, when we were in the kitchen earlier, you were about to pass me something else on paper when you found that drawing of hers, remember?"

"Oh, you're right, the will!" Artie patted his pockets and found it again. "Here you go; I'd forgotten completely!" He passed it over, then went to watch Rose draw while Jim sat down to peruse the will. Rose, however, scowled at Artie and hunched over her paper, blocking his view.

"Hey, Artie," Jim called, "this doesn't sound right. David Jeremiah Anders, Jr - I presume that's Jamie - inherits everything?"

"Yeah, that's what I thought too. Why would Mrs Anders insist on Liliana marrying a cousin to keep Las Flores in the family if she doesn't even inherit part of the farm? Doesn't make sense."

"No, it doesn't." Jim went back to reading.

And then Artie felt a tug on his sleeve. He looked down to see Rose holding a paper out to him. "Oh, is your drawing finished?" He accepted it from her and examined it.

Once again it was a bearded man, his head an oval with a scribble at its chin, his clothing looking distinctly boxy. The child's drawing style, as Artie had noticed before, had certainly progressed beyond stick figures, but sadly not enough for the man to be recognizable as a specific person. Still, she was trying. As Jim came over to take a look as well, Artie pointed at the drawing and asked, "Is this the man who killed your pa?"

Emphatically she nodded.

"But who is he?"

Rose snorted and slipped the paper from Uncle Artie's hand, then turned it over. On the back in large block letters was scrawled a single word: COWARD.

"Coward," Artie read aloud. He and Jim exchanged a glance. "Well, Rose Petal, while we can certainly agree that it was a cowardly thing for someone to do, murdering your father, it… Wait a minute. You can write?"

She stared up at him and rolled her eyes.

"Rose," said Jim earnestly, "if you can write, we'd like you to write out everything that happened that day, everything you saw, everything you remember, so that we can arrest the man who did this and see to it that he's punished. Do you understand?"

With neither a nod nor a shake of her head, the girl took the paper back and laid it on the desk again, then took up the pen once more.

"Coward," Artie murmured as he and Jim strolled back toward the sofa. "I wonder why she wrote… Oh, someone's at the door again. I'll get it." And he strode from the room.

Jim settled back on the sofa, continuing to read the will as the scratching of Rose's pen lent a soft background noise to the scene.

Minutes passed. As Jim reached a paragraph late in the document, he frowned and started to call out for his partner. But just then the door sprang open. Both Jim and Rose turned to see Artie, still done up as Sid Hargill, enter the parlor with two men following closely behind him.

And the ink pen clattered onto the desk top as Rose Anders vanished.


	25. Act Four, Part Six

**Act Four, Part Six**

As Artie had exited the parlor to answer the front door again, a voice called down from the stairs behind him. "Oh, Mr Hargill! I'll get the door."

He glanced up at Liliana poised halfway down the stairs. As she obviously thought he was the manager and not wanting to waste any time with an explanation, Artie growled out a Hargillesque response of, "I already got yanked outta my office by the knocking! I might as well answer it." And he continued toward the door and wrenched it open.

A familiar face smiled at him from the porch. "Ah, Mr Hargill! Jamie Anders asked me to come by. Apparently there was some sort of to-do earlier, and I'm needed to look in on both his mother and Deputy Owens?"

"Afternoon, Doc," Artie greeted Jordan, staying in character still. He jerked his head toward the stairs and said, "Go on up. They're in Li… in Miss Liliana's room up there." He glanced out the door and frowned. "Say, Doc, where's the boy?"

"Jamie? He rode on, saying he ought to also go get… Ah, Liliana! How is your mother, my dear?"

"Dr Jordan!" the young lady called as she hurried down the stairway. "I'm so glad you could come! We think she's fine, but would like your opinion. And then there's Gabe. He… Oh, just come on upstairs and see for yourself."

Dr Jordan smiled reassuringly as he left his hat with the _ersatz _Hargill and followed the girl up to the second floor. Artie hung the hat onto the hall rack and took another look outside, wondering what the doctor had nearly said about Jamie. Ought to go get what?

He was starting to close the door when a movement out at the front lane caught his eye: a carriage was coming in. He waited, watching, as this carriage drew up behind that of Dr Jordan and two men climbed out, one of them chin-bearded and distinguished, the other beady-eyed, no-necked, and gorilla-armed, looking like a somewhat more compact version of Burke Johnson.

"Ah, Hargill!" the distinguished man called. With a glance at the other carriage, he added, "Oh, the doctor's still here? Yes, I suppose he would have been called in, at that." Without pausing for an answer, the man strode up onto the porch and said, "I seem to have misplaced something when I was here yesterday to see the Anders children. I and my secretary here should like to have a look in the parlor for it, my good man."

Artie let his hackles rise just the way he imagined the real Hargill would at being addressed as "my good man." Scowling and narrowing his eyes, he leaned on the door frame and asked, "What, you lost something, Mr Craven?"

"Yes, Mrs Anders' will, if you must know. Has anyone said anything to you of its discovery?"

"Me? Naw, ain't no one tells me nothing. You wanna have a look around the parlor, is that it?"

"As I said previously, yes," Craven replied haughtily.

Artie dragged the door all the way open. "Yeah, if you must. Come on in." He turned and led the way, leaving the lawyer's simian secretary to close the door behind them. Artie reached the parlor and threw the door open. He saw both Jim and little Rose Petal snap around to look at the door. And as he half-turned to gesture Mr Craven and his secretary inside, Artie caught a slight movement out of the tail of his eye: Rose had darted for cover behind the sofa again.

The secretary folded his beefy arms and leaned against the parlor door, effectively locking it, as Mr Craven harrumphed and drew himself up tall. "Mr West, I believe you have something there that belongs to me."

Jim gazed at the lawyer over the top of the page in his hands. "Belongs to you? Are you referring to Mrs Anders' will here? Doesn't it really belong to her, and to her children after her?"

Craven gave a wave of his hand. "Indulging in semantics, are you, Mr West? Then let us say that the will is _entrusted _to my care, not to be opened and read by others, as you clearly have done. Now, are you going to hand it over quietly, or must Mr Talbot here insist on its return?" He nodded toward the big man he'd brought with him. "My secretary, Bartleby J Talbot. He doesn't brook with people interfering with the legal process."

Talbot grinned and cracked his knuckles. And Artie, leaning against the desk, muttered softly under his breath, "So that's the bjt who penned the will, hmm? Didn't know orangutans could write…"

"After all," Craven continued, "now that Mrs Anders has, ah, gone on to her reward - I saw the undertaker drive his hearse into town, and came out right away - it's time to read that will to the children and follow its behests to the letter."

"Curious thing about this will, Craven," Jim said evenly. "It seems to contain passages that Mrs Anders' actions of late contradict. For example…" Jim came to his feet and passed the will to his disguised partner. "…the third paragraph from the end. Would you read that aloud?"

Artie cleared his throat and obliged:

_Now as to guardians for my children, I leave my two daughters, Liliana Mae Anders and Rose Evelyn Anders, in the care of my cousin, Leonard Mills, sheriff of the town of Macon, Texas, and his wife, Bonita Garza Mills, with the firm belief that they will love and cherish my daughters as I do. As for my son, David Jeremiah Anders, Jr, that he may be raised and educated in business affairs as befits the owner of Las Flores, I entrust him to the guardianship of…_

Artie broke off here, his eyes bulging. He glanced up at the lawyer and let loose a harsh cackle. "To the guardianship of Harvey Peterson Craven, Esquire! She named _you _as his guardian, did she?"

"Indeed she did, and I'll ask you for that will now, Hargill!" Craven stepped closer and made a grab for it.

Artie easily eluded the grab. "Now ain't that interesting, Mr West!" he continued. "I seem to recall how Miz Anders lay right there on the parlor floor coupla days back, in agony of pain from being shot, and how she cried and wailed over leaving her poor orphaned children with no one to take care of 'em, rejected Miz Mills offer to take 'em all in, and finally accepted the offer of a total stranger to serve as their guardian! Ain't that funny, Mr West, when all this time she'd already named guardians in this will of hers?" He chuckled again, fixing Craven with a gimlet eye. "Guess it had all just, uh, slipped her mind, huh?"

Craven regarded him coldly. "Talbot," he ordered, "get the will."

Talbot rolled a shoulder to shove himself off the door and started for the supposed Hargill. Artie folded the paper hastily and tucked it into a pocket, then glanced at the desk behind him for an impromptu weapon. He frowned. "Inkwell," he muttered to himself. "I know there was an inkwell here earlier, a heavy glass bottle of ink. Where'd it go?"

Jim, over by the sofa, folded his arms and said, "Talbot does your dirty work for you, does he, Craven? He forged Mrs Anders' will to your exact specifications. And did he also kill David Anders for you? Or did you do that one for yourself - Coward?"

Craven rounded on the agent in fury. "_What _did you say?" he hissed.

Artie perked up. "Ah yes! Craven does mean 'coward,' doesn't it?" He shot a glance at the sofa and the hidden person he knew to be behind it.

Talbot paused, his beetled brows knitting. " 'Kill'? What'd'you mean, 'kill'? Who's David Anders?"

"Never mind, Talbot! That was before your time. Now, get. The. Will!"

"Yes sir, Mr Craven." He loomed closer to the man he thought was Sidney Hargill, who nipped around to the other side of the desk, putting that sturdy piece of furniture between them.

"So you _did _commit that murder all by yourself," said Jim. "Our informant described the murderer as a coward, and now I see why."

"Stop saying that!" Craven demanded. "No one calls me that and gets away with it!"

"What, murderer?"

"_Coward!" _he snarled through clenched teeth. "Talbot! _I'll _get the will. I want you to teach this insufferable nuisance a lesson he'll never forget - provided he lives through it."

"Yes sir, Mr Craven." Talbot cracked his knuckles once more, then his neck as well, and changed directions to head for Jim West. Jim watched him come, studying everything about the gorilla, from his rolling gait to the way he flexed his shoulders, in order to get a feel for his foe's strengths and weaknesses, yet at the same time giving Talbot precious little to read from his own stance. They faced each other between the sofa and the coffee table.

And then Talbot charged, arms flung wide, trying to engulf his smaller opponent. Jim held his ground - until the other was less than a foot away. As soon as Talbot was fully committed to his lunge, Jim slipped right under his arm to one side, then hammered the big man in the back, sending him to the floor.

With a growl, Talbot clambered up and went after Jim again. This time when he tried to overwhelm Jim, the smaller man seized Talbot by the shoulders and fell backwards. Talbot fell too, only to have the air kicked out of him as Jim's foot caught him in the gut and then booted him into a flip head over heels.

Talbot measured his length on the floor, winded, shocked, and enraged. He struggled to his feet again and whirled about, trying to spot what had become of his foe.

Meanwhile, Craven had started for the desk. "Listen to reason, Hargill!" he demanded. "This isn't your fight. Just hand over the will now, and once I'm in charge of Las Flores, I promise I'll keep you on as manager."

"Oh, once _you're _in charge?" said Artie. "Well, that's makes everything a whole lot clearer! You rewrote the will to give Las Flores to Jamie alone and to put yourself in as the boy's guardian, so how long do you plan to wait before you persuade the boy to sign everything over to you: until he's seventeen? Eighteen? Oh wait! Or do you plan to forge a will for _him _too, one that names you as his heir, and then you'll just bump him off like you did his pa and ma!"

Craven's face twisted. "Ramsey talks too much! Now, listen, Hargill! Don't be a fool!"

Across the room Talbot had decided to change tactics. Instead of rushing Jim again with arms wide, the big man lifted the coffee table and swung it at Jim like some sort of macabre batting practice. Jim ducked for cover behind the nearest piece of furniture, the sofa - and just in time too before Talbot splintered the table to pieces against the sofa's arm. With barely a glance at the child cringing between the sofa and the wall - for he wanted neither Craven nor Talbot to realize Rose was there - Jim charged out again while Talbot was still off-balance from destroying the coffee table. His face a mask of steely determination, Jim launched himself at the big man.

"Oh right, good ol' Devon Ramsey!" Artie nodded, still keeping the desk between himself and the lawyer. "Yeah, the man you hired to kill Mrs Anders."

Craven sighed and shook his head. "Well, it seems Ramsey isn't the only one who talks too much. Pity. I was willing to let you keep your job, my good man, but now I'm afraid it won't be prudent for me to permit you even the luxury of keeping your life." From his pocket he whipped out a small but efficient-looking derringer and aimed it across the desk.

Talbot had looked up just in time to see Jim flying at him but with no time left over to do anything about it. Jim slammed into him, sending the big man stumbling backwards into an upholstered chair, which promptly collapsed under him. Jim rolled to his feet and stood over him. "Had enough?" he asked.

Eyes blazing with rage, Talbot scrambled up and charged Jim West once more.

Artie's hands came up as soon as he saw the gun. "Now look, Craven! You don't dare fire that thing!"

"Oh? And why not?"

"Because the sound of it will catch the attention of everybody in the house, that's why not! You said it yourself that Doc Jordan is here. You planning to kill him too? And what about Liliana? Do you have the stomach for killing a young woman?"

Craven's lips lifted into a cruel smile. "I killed her parents, didn't I?

Artie smiled at the frank confession. "Well, as a matter of fact, you only killed one of 'em. The dead body the undertaker hauled back into town? That was your gunman, Craven. Devon Ramsey's the one who's dead, not Miz Anders."

Craven's eyes bulged. "What? No! No, you're lying!"

"Mm, yeah, about a few things. But not about the facts that Ramsey is dead and Iris Anders lives. Those happen to be the truth."

Behind them, Jim waited again as Talbot rushed him. The big man nearly got a hand on Jim this time, but Jim slammed a fist into Talbot's gut, then grabbed him by the arm and rushed him toward the last tall front window of the parlor that wasn't boarded up.

"That can't be true!" Craven cried out, gaping at the supposed Hargill in shock. "Ramsey's the best! What happened to him?"

"Oh, basically that," Artie replied, waving toward the other combatants just as a magnificent _crash _echoed through the room. Craven whirled to see Jim West straightening up and brushing off his jacket. Of Talbot there was no sign, and not much sign of the remaining parlor window anymore either.

"You!" His eyes all but starting from his face, Craven swung the derringer around to aim it at West. "You've ruined everything! And now you'll pay!"

And in the next instant three things happened. Artie lunged past the desk to try to spoil Craven's aim. Jim dove for the floor and rolled to get out of Craven's line of sight. And something about the size of one of Artie's smoke bombs zinged through the air to clobber Craven right in the forehead.

The derringer in his hand went off even as the lawyer's eyes rolled up in his head. He fell heavily to the floor and lay still.

Artie sprang to Craven's side and grabbed up the derringer, then thumbed open the man's eyes and checked his pulse. "Well, he's out cold. You ok, Jim?"

"Yeah. The bullet missed me completely and lodged over there in the boarded-up window. But where did this come from?" Jim scooped up the object that had beaned Craven and held it out to Artie. It was ornate and cylindrical and made of heavy glass.

"Oh," said Artie, "so that's what became of the inkwell!" He glanced over at the sofa. "Rose Petal, little girls really shouldn't intervene in grown-ups' fights - but I'm glad you did. You can come on out now. All the bad guys are knocked out."

From behind the sofa the girl stood up. She was shaking, but from the fire in her eye it was plain that the trembling was more from fury than from fear. She stalked out from her hiding place to stand and stare down at the unconscious body of the lawyer.

And then she spat on him, pointed a finger at him, and sputtered out, "C-c-coward!"

**End of Act Four**


	26. Tag

**Tag**

"Good heavens, what's been going on in here?" came the voice of the doctor as he rushed into the parlor. "We heard a horrific commotion from upstairs and… _What happened?" _Spotting the unconscious Craven lying in the floor with a prominent lump on his forehead, Dr Jordan quickly knelt by the injured man's side and began checking him over.

"Actually, he's not the only man here in need of your attention, Doctor," said Jim. "And the one just outside the window is almost certainly in worse shape than Craven."

Jordan cut short his examination of the lawyer and hurried over to step gingerly through the broken window frame to reach his other patient.

Now a second figure, this one with a bandage wrapped around his head, appeared at the parlor door. "What on earth?" Gabe Owens exclaimed.

"Ah, Deputy!" called a man who was apparently Sidney Hargill. "Would you happen to have a pair of handcuffs on you?"

"Uh…" It took Gabe a second of bewildered gaping at what was left of the parlor before the question registered fully in his brain. "Oh! Sure, I have a pair."

"Wonderful! And would you mind slapping them on his wrists then?" He nodded at Craven.

"What, you mean arrest him? What's he done?"

"You would be amazed," the supposed Hargill assured him.

"What the he… he… _eck _is going on in here? Sounded like the house was being knocked to pieces!" growled the real Sid Hargill as he too put in an appearance. He glared around the parlor, gave a sullen snort, pointed at the window and declared, "I ain't fixing that!" then shot Artie a fiery glance and added, "And I'm tired of seeing myself when I ain't looking in a mirror!" And with that he stormed off, leaving a stunned Gabe Owens gawking at the manager's twin.

Moments later the house shuddered as Hargill slammed his office door.

This was followed by yet another person stopping dead in the doorway. "Oh my word!" Liliana squeaked. She stared round-eyed at the mess, then spotted her sister calmly sitting on the sofa. "Oh, Rosie!" She hurried to the little girl and flung her arms around her. "Are you all right? What happened?"

Rose smiled up at her and pointed at Craven on the floor. "Coward!" she proclaimed proudly.

Liliana's jaw dropped. "What? Ro… Rosie? Was that you?"

Rose beamed still wider. "He… he's a bad man. He k-killed Pa," she said, her words still slow and stumbling.

"You… you're talking. Rose, you're _talking! _Oh, _Rose!" _Liliana swept her sister up into an ecstatic hug.

And now one more person entered the parlor and halted as if in a trance. "Land's sakes! My parlor! My window! My table! What happened? And oh! My lawyer!"

Jim, Artie, and Gabe as well jumped to the widow's side. "Mrs Anders, you shouldn't be up," Artie chided.

"I know, Mr Hargill, but with all that ruckus, I _had _to come see." She took another look at him and blurted out, "But you're not Mr Hargill!"

"No, ma'am, I'm not." Artie pulled off the wig, then gave a useless tug at the beard. "I'm just a bit stuck with this shrubbery on my chin for now until I can get back upstairs to my bottle of spirit gum remover."

"In the meantime, Mrs Anders, you sit here on the sofa and rest," said Jim. He shot Artie a look and nodded at the woman, and Artie set about tactfully checking the widow's wounds. Rose curled up against her mother's less injured side, while Liliana told her excitedly of Rose's recovered ability to speak.

Now it was Mrs Anders who gaped. "Rosie? My Rosie? Talking?"

And for a while there was much confusion, and much of that of the delighted variety. Jim and Artie consulted with the doctor over both Talbot and Craven while Gabe, in addition to keeping an eye on Craven, set about cleaning up the broken bits of table.

Eventually Dr Jordan finished with Talbot and returned to Craven to tend to his wounds as well - and also to scold Mrs Anders for having left her bed and negotiated the stairway alone. She only laughed, feeling quite carefree to have her youngest child back, so to speak.

And now even more people arrived, for into the yard rode Jamie, followed by a buckboard containing the Mills family. More people, more confusion, more laughter and hugs - at least, amongst the four immediate members of the Anders family.

And then Sheriff Mills asked the question of the hour, and Jim and Artie obliged with the full story.

Afterwards Len Mills pointed at Rose. "So you're telling me that that youngun there saw Craven kill her pa and none of us knew?"

"Craven confirmed it," said Jim.

"And hired Devon Ramsey as well," added Artie.

"But why?"

Artie produced the will. "This explains a lot of it." He passed the document to Mrs Anders, whose face and eyes and vociferations as she read were highly instructive all on their own.

"Why, I never wrote this! Not a word of it!" she fumed at the last and flung the paper down. "Cheat my daughters out of their shares of Las Flores? Entrust my son to that… that…!" She pointed at the still-unconscious Craven where he lay on the floor, unable to think of a word vile enough to describe the man she and her late husband had trusted so.

"It looks like his plan was to acquire Las Flores in a roundabout fashion," said Jim. And at a squeak from the sofa, he added, "Mrs Anders? Is something wrong?"

She sat for a silent moment, her hand clutching at her heart. "Why, I just remembered! It wasn't long before David's death that he made a cryptic remark to me about someone offering to go into partnership with him in Las Flores, but that he planned to turn him down. Do…" She looked up at the various people surrounding her. "Do you suppose he was speaking of Mr Craven?"

And at her side, Rose nodded vigorously.

Artie came and knelt before the little girl and took her hand in his. "You know more about this than anyone here, except for the bad man himself. Can you tell us what happened, Rose Petal? What happened between Mr Craven and your pa?"

Slowly, haltingly, often ducking her head or lapsing into silence or tears, the child brought forth her story. On that terrible afternoon, her pa had invited her to come with him on a walk through their pine trees. He had pointed out interesting birds and flowers; they had even seen a doe and her fawn briefly before the deer had spotted them and raced off through the trees, their white tails flashing.

And then Pa had stopped to look at one of the pine trees. There was something wrong with it, he'd said. It was infested with… something. A bug. He checked the other trees around it, then came back. He'd caught it early, he said. Only this tree had it. So he'd sent Rose Petal back to the house to fetch him his ax, to take care of the problem now before it could get worse.

And so she brought him the ax. While the steady sound of _thunk, thunk, thunk _echoed through the woods, Rose had moved off a little distance to look at a lizard she'd spotted running up under a large rock. Pa had said she shouldn't come back till after the tree fell, and she did as Pa told her.

Then came the _crash _as the tree shook the ground, and Rose had started back to rejoin her father. And that's when she heard the voices.

Loud voices. Angry voices. One was Pa's, and the other… She pointed at the man on the floor.

"What were they saying?" Jim asked.

Rose shrugged. "I didn't understand. I know Pa said he didn't need or want a partner, and that made him," and again she nodded at Craven, "angry. He said… I don't know." She shook her head and shrugged. "I didn't know what he was talking about. Something about making Pa wish he'd said Yes instead of No? He said something about ruining… something. That a few well… uh… well-placed words would get even…" She closed her eyes, concentrating. "Even the loyalest customers to can… uh, can sell something?"

"Cancel?" Artie suggested.

Her eyes wide, Mrs Anders supplied, "Cancel their contracts? Is that what he said?"

Rose nodded vigorously. "Yes, Ma!"

Her mother gave an unsteady laugh. "But… but that's exactly what happened! Shortly after David died, one by one our customers began to disappear. I never could understand it. Mr Hargill always put it down to a run of bad luck, but…" Her eyes hardened. "But I see now that it might well have been _someone_," and she glared down at the lawyer, "spreading rumors. A whisper campaign to ruin our business. Oh, but that's beneath contempt!"

Rose caught at her ma's hand. "That's what Pa said! He said it was beneath… what you said… for a man to threaten another man's wife and children and livelihood, and if that's what kind of man he is…" And she pointed again at the lawyer. "…then Pa saw now that all those people who had called him coward were right!"

"Called him coward!" said Artie. "You mean all this is about a pun on his name?"

"No, more than that," said Sheriff Mills. "This goes back to the War. Craven there was young and fit, and ought to have gone into the army, but instead he found him a substitute to send in his place. Well, lots of men did that, of course, on both sides of the conflict. It was just the unfortunate coincidence of his last name that led to folks making comments about him being a coward. He hated it, of course, and after a time he got to where just the sound of that word would send him into a rage. But David never called him that. David never had a harsh word for anyone."

Jim and Artie turned to Rose. "Until that day in the argument," said Jim. "That's what he did, didn't he? Your pa called him a coward to his face."

The child nodded.

"What happened then, Rose Petal?"

She looked down, blinking, twisting her fingers together. Her mother drew her close. "Rosie?"

"After Pa called him that, he turned away from him and told him to get off our property. Mr Craven's face got awful red! He looked around and saw the ax propped up against the stump of the bug tree, so he grabbed the ax and he… he ran… he…" The unhappy child buried her face in her hands and that was the end of her tale.

Sheriff Mills sighed. "So she saw it, and Craven confessed to it?"

"Right," said Jim. "And after he killed David Anders, he moved the tree onto the body or else moved the body under the tree, making it look like an accident."

"Well, he sure fooled all of us! Not one of us ever suspected a thing!"

"Yep," said Artie. "And he would have gotten away with it completely, if it hadn't have been for this meddling little girl here." He smiled at Rose and gave her a wink.

"All right," said Sheriff Mills, standing to his feet. "Once Craven comes to, we'll arrest him for murder and solicitation of murder." He shook his head in wonder. "And to think for all these years we had a murderer in our midst and never guessed!"

"There's something that puzzles me though," Liliana spoke up.

"And what's that?" said Jim.

"Well…" She cast a worried glance toward her sister before continuing. "It's… it's the cats. Rose's cats. I don't understand. Why did Ramsey kill the cats?"

"Hey, that's a good question!" said Artie. "We thought he did that to get Rose to run to her mother, which would show him where she was…"

"But in fact," Jim took up the train of thought, "Ramsey's actions showed he didn't know where Mrs Anders was, not until he knocked out Deputy Owens right after seeing him open the hidden door."

"Exactly," said Artie. "So why…" He paused, having caught a fleeting look of panic fly across one of the faces in the room. Artie thumped at his nose and repeated himself. "Why would Ramsey have taken Rose's cats and killed them all, then laid them out on her bed - four little cats, all in a row - leaving them there for her to find… Excuse me? What was that?"

No one answered him. Most of his audience glanced around at each other, mystified. But one pair of eyes looked down at the floor, refusing to meet anyone's gaze.

Artie shared a glance with his partner, and then Jim stepped over to stand in front of the one with the shifty-eyes. "What was that you said?"

Frank Mills lifted his eyes and laughed. "I… I didn't say nothing!"

"No? Because I thought I heard a voice - _your _voice - say 'They weren't all in a row.' Didn't you hear him say that, Artie?"

"That's what it sounded like to me, yeah, Jim."

Frank stared up at them, then slowly got to his feet. "Well? So? So what if I did say it? They weren't all in a row anyway! The kittens were side by side, yeah, but the mama was crossways like she was nursing 'em. All cozy like." The last sentence came out as a sneer.

The Anders family, and indeed the remaining Mills, Gabe Owens, and Dr Jordan as well, all stared at Frank. "What…?" said Liliana, even as Mrs Mills breathed, "What have you done?"

Frank looked around at them all. "What's everyone upset about? They were just cats. Mangy, smelly, annoying…"

Rose, her fists clenched, growled out, "They were _not! _They were _clean! _Cats are clean and tidy, not…!" Her mother shushed her and drew her close, and Rose burrowed against her side and wept.

Frank glared at her. "They were pests! Stupid little pests, and only someone as stupid as they were would miss 'em!"

Jim fixed Frank with a steely gaze. "You were angry with Rose because she threw things at you…"

"After you spooked her," Artie put in.

"…so you decided to get even. Rose loves her cats; everyone knows that. So you destroyed something she loves." Jim raked the deputy with a look of scorn. "There are few things in this earth lower than a man who takes out his anger on innocent animals."

There was a long silence, interrupted only by Rose's soft weeping and Frank's angry, snorting breaths. Then Iris Anders spoke up.

"I see now. I see what Mr Gordon was warning me of, and what Liliana has been fighting against for all this time. I see I've been a fool, a blind fool. But no more. Any man," she declared, "who would take out his anger with a _child _by killing her pets is not worthy of being called a man!" She looked on Frank a moment longer, then lifted her chin and turned away. "Deputy Owens," she now said, "I must ask your forgiveness. It appears I've misjudged you - not surprising, as I seem to have been trusting those whom I shouldn't have, and _mis_trusting those in whom I should have had confidence. I humbly apologize to you before all this company. You have my blessing to court my daughter."

Gabe's face lit up like the beacon of a lighthouse, and Liliana threw her hands over her mouth with a breathless cry of "Oh, Ma!" And just as the young deputy strode across the room to gather his sweetheart in his arms, Sheriff Mills moved toward his son and held out his hand.

Frank's brows knit. "Pa?"

"She's right, you know. A man who acts the way you just did, killing the child's pets - well, he ain't worthy to be called a man, nor should he be a deputy of the law. Hand 'em over, gun and badge."

"But… but, Pa!"

"Hand 'em over."

"Now, Len, you wouldn't!" cried Bonita Mills. "Not our own son!"

"Bonnie, this is law-enforcement business, and none of your concern!"

"Oh, I see! You take everyone else's word against your own flesh and blood, and you'll keep that… that _rogue _there as deputy, but kick out your son!"

"Bonnie!" the sheriff said warningly.

In her anguish she ignored him, her words spilled out angrily, heedlessly. "You say Frank doesn't deserve to be a deputy just because he got rid of a few worthless little cats, but what about _him? _What do we really know about _him_, Len? That fellow there, everybody's fair-haired boy, who left a good job in Tyler to slink off and hide here in Macon! Why? Why'd he do that? And why on earth do you trust _him _when you don't even trust Frank!"

"I know everything I need to know about Gabe Owens and why he came here, woman, and it's none of your business!"

Across the room, a look of misery on his face, Gabe said, "No, Sheriff, it's ok. You've been good about not letting others in on my, well, my secret. But since it seems like my reason for leaving the sheriff's department over at Tyler is just going to hang over my head like a dark cloud right to the end of my days… well, I guess it's high time to make a clean breast of it." And Gabe turned to look at the sheriff's wife, his eyes full of pain.

Uncowed, she met his eyes steadily, her head held high.

"Not that it's anyone's business," Gabe began, "except of course for Liliana's - but as it happened, I was seeing a girl over in Tyler, and then she…"

"…wound up in the family way, no doubt, you rake! You philanderer!"

"Can I finish my own story, Miz Mills? That's not at all what happened. Her name was Lizzie Tanner, and she… What's that?"

For a small sound had interrupted him, a sharp intake of breath followed by a soft, "No!"

Gabe looked around the room, his gaze settling on Dr Jordan. "Something wrong, Doctor?" he asked.

"I… I wasn't aware that young Miss Tanner had a beau, young man. I was called in on the case by Dr Hamilton. I suppose you know him."

Gabe nodded. "Yes sir, I know him. I know he said there was nothing could be done."

"In a case of lockjaw, no, I'm afraid not. We can only make the patient as comfortable as possible and hope for the best while, ah… preparing for the worst."

Gabe closed his eyes. "Yeah, well, worst is what my poor Lizzie got. Doc Hamilton said it all came about from a little cut on her toe. Something that small."

Silence fell over the room. Liliana sat like a statue, her hand clutching Gabe's where he stood beside her. Artie exchanged a glance with Jim, then shot the young swain a sympathetic look. Mrs Anders on the sofa took Liliana's other hand and squeezed it.

And Mrs Mills sat there with her mouth open for a long moment before snapping it shut with a sound like a bear trap. "Well, I never!" she declared. "You really expect us to believe a tall tale like that? Your precious sweetheart died of lockjaw? Hmph!"

His voice low, Gabe responded, "She was precious, in fact, Miz Mills. I never hoped to meet another as precious as she - and then I was blessed to meet Liliana Anders. And I make you this promise right here and now, Lil, that I'll never take even a second we have together for granted!"

Mrs Mills sneered and made a contemptuous snort.

The sheriff clapped his hands suddenly, then rubbed them together. "Look," he said, "I should get these two home," and he nodded at his wife and son, "and make arrangements to haul those two off to the hoosegow," and he nodded at Craven and the other unconscious man handcuffed just outside the window. "Gabe, you're in charge of the prisoners until I get back for them."

"Yes sir, Sheriff."

"Mr West, Mr Gordon, I wanna thank you for all your help in getting all this stuff cleared up, and it's been a pleasure meeting you. Iris, kids, Dr Jordan, good day." He herded his family out the door and loaded them into the buckboard, seemingly deaf to their indignant protestations.

"I don't envy him," Artie whispered to Jim.

"I supposed I'll take my leave as well," said Dr Jordan. He shook hands with Jamie, Gabe, and the agents, tipped his hat to the ladies, and left Mrs Anders with a stern admonition against climbing the stairs on her own.

And Jamie, remembering the kitchen job he'd never finished, hopped up and volunteered to board up the window, then vanished to get the supplies.

"Well," said Mrs Anders, "I suppose you two gentlemen will be wanting to get on your way as well."

Jim and Artie exchanged a glance, then Artie smiled winsomely at the widow. "Now, my dear Mrs Anders, I made you a solemn promise, and Mr West here is a man of principle; he won't hear of me going back on my word, you see, so I…"

"But you won't be going back on your word. I extracted a promise from you under the most trying of circumstances, and now that those circumstances have passed, I shall formally release you from your promise."

Artie blinked. "But, you, ah, you're not fully recovered yet," he reminded her.

"True. But Liliana can help me. It was silly of me not to consider that she's old enough to see after the younger children and the house. And Deputy Owens will be here to help as well. Won't you, Deputy?"

Now Gabe blinked. "Oh. Well, yes. Yes, of course. Well, I'll have work to do, of course, but… But, yes, I'll be here as much as possible."

Mrs Anders shifted forward to take Gabe's hand. "There's more to love than flowers and romance, young man. There are good times and bad, sickness as well as health. And right now, if you find you can put up with a querulous old potential mother-in-law… Well, I think you'll do my daughter proud. Don't you?"

…

"You sure you won't stay another night, gentlemen? The day's fair spent already, and Ma says for you to rest assured you haven't worn out your welcome."

"Thank you, no, Liliana," said Artie, rubbing his blissfully naked chin as he and Jim brought their saddlebags down from the Blue Room. "We need to be getting along."

"We have telegrams to send to Washington once the lines are repaired," Jim explained, "and we'll find out when the repairs are done sooner in Tyler than we will here."

"They may even be fixed already," Artie agreed. "Besides, your mother's kind words not withstanding, we've presumed on the Anders family hospitality long enough. And you'll have Gabe to help you. Oh, by the way, I meant to ask: how's his eyesight doing?"

The girl dimpled enchantingly. "Oh, much improved! By the time Dr Jordan arrived, Gabe's eyes were just about back to normal, and the doctor said he shouldn't have any problems. Well, so long as he doesn't make a habit of getting knocked over the head, that is." She beamed with relief.

"That's good to hear," said Jim.

"And a habit maybe the two of us should get out of," Artie murmured sotto voce.

"Well," said Liliana as the three of them reached the front door, "if you should ever get out this way again, remember that our door is always open for Uncle Jim and Uncle Artie!" She gave them each a fond embrace and a peck on the cheek before the men headed outside.

As they reached the stable, the door was flung open for them before they could touch it, and a certain youngster with honey-blonde hair flung her arms around one man, then the other, hugging them fiercely.

"Aw, we'll miss you too, Rose Petal!" said Artie, landing a kiss on the girl's forehead.

"Thank you," she whispered gruffly. "Thank you for… for everything."

"You're very welcome," said Jim. "And thank _you _for returning the inkwell."

"Yeah, right into Craven's noggin!"

Rose blushed, then rushed from the stable. At the kitchen door, she glanced back to wave for a second, then disappeared into the house.

"Well, I hope everything goes well for her, now that she's talking again."

"So do I, Artie." And they set about fetching their saddles and getting their horses ready to head out.

"Ah," Artie added at length, "there _is _one more thing, you know, that we ought to take care of before nightfall."

"You mean Burke Johnson."

"Right."

Jim finished and led Blackjack outside to mount up. "Well, we've got at least another hour of daylight. His tracks should be fairly clear this soon after a good drenching rain. We might manage to catch up to him tonight."

Artie gave his nose a thump and mounted up as well. "Well… His tracks just might be a bit easier to follow than usual. Provided we beat out the birds, that is."

Jim cast a sidelong look his partner's way. "Artie, what did you do?" But before Artie could begin to answer, Jim ran a quick mental review of the narrative he'd been told of that encounter with the giant earlier, and he said, "The bag of oats you hung from the back of his saddle: you didn't happened to take your knife and nick a small hole in the bag, did you?"

Artie grinned. "Could be. And could also be that there's a little something besides water in that canteen I readied for him."

"Ah, a cross between Hansel and Gretel, and Sleeping Beauty, is that it?" said Jim. And as Artie shrugged with false modesty, Jim added, "Well, you're right, we do need to hurry to beat the birds to that trail, and there's no telling how soon he'll drink the water, so let's get going!"

"Right behind you, Jim! Besides, I have another stake in catching up with Burke Johnson, you know."

"You do, at that," Jim agreed, flashing him a smile. "The fellow owes you ten dollars."

"He certainly does!" And off they headed through the Piney Woods in search of the final fugitive.

**FIN**


End file.
